
I\./ 



ROSEMARY 

»^^^ AND ^^ 

RVE 



i! 



«t f 6* 



E.K.GORDON 




Class JP^ 35 1^ 
Book '((jj^i T?fc 



Cioip^htN". 



COKYKIGIIT DEPOSIT. 



ROSEMARY 

AND 

RUE 



COMPILED BY 

ELEANOR KINZIE GORDON 



'There *s rosemary, that 's for 

remembrance 
There's rue for you. " 

Shakspere 



NEW YORK 

E. P. BUTTON AND COMPANY 

31 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 
1906 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 

Two Copies Received 

NOV 15 1906 

n Copyright Entry 
CLASS 7\ XX/.No. 
COPY B. ' 



763^13 



Copyrighted, 1906 

BY 

ELEANOR KINZIE GORDON 



Published September, 1906 



"Cbe Iknfcfterbocfeer press, IRcw IBorft 



VERSES 
COLLECTED IN LOVING MEMORY OF 

SARAH ALICE GORDON 

BY HER MOTHER 



They are poor 
That have lost nothing ; they are poorer far 
Who, losing, have forgotten ; they most poor 
Of all, who lose and wish they might forget. 
For life is one, and in its warp and woof 
There runs a thread of gold that glitters fair 
And sometimes in the pattern shows most sweet 
Where there are somber colors. It is true 
That we have wept. But, oh, this thread of gold! 
We would not have it tarnish ; let us turn 
Oft. and look back upon the wondrous web, 
And when it shineth sometimes we shall know 
That memory is possession. 

Jean Ingelow. 



A PHOTOGRAPH 

This is her shadow, — nothing more; 
The eyes that wear no smile for mine, 

The silent lips that laughed before, 
The hair, without its wave and shine, 
This mask that shows no mark divine. 

How calm, and cold it looks at me; 

Her eyes were full of shade and sun, 
A look that rippled like the sea, 

Across whose breast the light waves 
run; 

A gleam, a cloud, a tale begun. 

This is the veil her soul put on 
To run the weary ways of earth; 

And when her fleeting race was won, 
She laid it down beside the hearth. 

It is not she that fronts me here 

5 



6 TRosemarg anD IRue 

This speechless aspect still and cold: 
I knew her fair, and sweet, and dear, 
A clinging girl, with heart of gold. 
And hands that clasped with tender 
hold. 

Was it a tender prophecy. 

This slight transparent mould of clay, 

To let the loving round her see 

How soon that soul must flit away, 
That fluttered, paused, but made no 
stay? 

Not here, but risen; oh, angel song, 
Still falling soft on hearts that weep! 

This is the dead whose ashes long 
Her Master's messengers shall keep, 

Safe in Earth's last undreaming sleep. 

But she who wore this mortal guise 
Has fled beyond our tearful sight; 

Joyful and strong, serene and wise. 
She lives upon the hills of light, 
And waits us on that heavenly height. 
Rose Terry Cooke. 



ALICE 

From the unceasing swell 
Of the blue, restless waves, 

Inland they bore the lily form 
Unto those southern graves. 

The sunny Earth's warm breast, 
Received her peaceful smile, 

From life's short voyage laid to rest 
Just for a little while. 

O Mother I Death is strong, — 
But Christ is stronger still ; 

And the Death Angel in his wrath, 
Does but fulfil His will. 

Who from Earth's fairest things 
Takes some unstained away, 

To be brought up beside His throne, 
And dwell with Him alway. 

C. M. Noel. 
7 



IN MEMORIAM 

** I exhort therefore, that, first of all, * * * 
prayers be made for all men." — / Timothy^ 
ii., I. 

O'er land and sea, love follows with 

fond prayers 
Its dear ones in their troubles, griefs, and 
cares ; 

There is no spot 
On which it does not drop this tender 

dew, 
Except the grave, and there it bids adieu, 
And prayeth not. 

Why should that be the only place un- 

cheered 
By prayer, which to our hearts is most 
endeared. 

And sacred grown? 
8 



TRosemarg anD IRuc 9 

Living, we sought for blessings on their 

head; 
Why should our lips be sealed when they 

are dead, 

And we alone? 

"Idle?"— "Their doom is fixed?" Ah, 

who can tell? 
Yet, were it so, I think no harm could well 

Come of my prayer. 
And oh, the heart, o'erburdened with its 

grief. 
This comfort needs, and finds therein 
relief 

From its despair! 

Shall God be wroth because we love them 

still. 
And call upon His love to shield them 
from all ill, 

Our dearest, best. 
And bring them home, and recompense 

their pain. 
And cleanse their sin, if any sin remain, 
And give them rest? 



lo IRosemavg auD IRuc 

Nay, I will not believe it. I will pray 
As for the living, for the dead each day. 

They will not grow 
Less meet for Heaven when followed by 

a prayer 
To speed them home, like summer- 
scented air 

From long ago. 

Who shall forbid the heart's desires to 

flow 
Beyond the limit of the things we know? 

In Heaven above 
The incense that the golden censers 

bear, 
Is the sweet perfume from the saintly 
prayer 

Of trust and love. 



UNAFRAID 

A MAID whose loveliness, not yet full 

blown, 
Wrought every heart to kinship with 

her own; 
So pure, so sweet, so fair and full of 

grace. 
She seemed a being of a gentler race, 
A higher breeding, a more gracious 

mould. 
No clay commingled with her finest 

gold. 

Oh, fitting that the season of her birth, 
Was that which gave the Prince of Peace, 

to earth. 
But when that holy season came again 
She caught an echo of the joyous strain 

II 



12 1Ro0emarg aiiD IRue 

That filled her ears when first from 

Heaven she strayed, 

And smiled, — and rose, — and left us, 

unafraid. 

The Critic. 



IN PARADISE 

How wise and great and glorious, 
Thy ransomed soul hath grown; 
Loving as thou art loved by God, 
Knowing as thou art known. 
Yet in that world, thou carest still 
For those thou lov'dst in this: 
The rich man did in torment, 
And wilt thou not in bliss? 
For sitting at thy Saviour's feet, 
And gazing in His face, 
Surely thou wilt not there unlearn 
One gentle human grace. 

Anonymous. 



A REMEMBRANCE 

To pass through life beloved as few are 

loved, 
To prove the joys of earth as few have 

proved, 
And still to keep thy soul's white robe 

unstained. 
Such is the victory which thou hast 

gained. 

How few like thine the pilgrim feet have 

come 
Unworn, unwounded to the heavenly 

home. 
Yet He who guides in sorrow's sorest 

need, 
As well by pleasant paths His own may 

lead. 

13 



14 1?O0cniari2 anD l^ue 

And love that guides where wintry 

tempests beat, 
To thee was shelter from the summer 

heat. 
What need for grief to blight or ills annoy 
The heart whose God was her exceeding 

joy? 

And so that radiant path all sweet and 

pure 
Found fitting close in perfect peace 

secure ; 
No haste to go, no anxious wish to stay, 
No childish terror of the untried way. 

But wrapped in trance of holy thought 

and prayer, 
Yet full of human tenderness and care, 
Undimmed its luster, and unchilled its 

love, 
Thy spirit passed to cloudless light 

above. 

In the far North, where, over frosts and 
gloom 



"Kosemari? aiiD TRue 15 

The midnight skies with rosy brightness 

bloom, 
There comes in all the year one day 

complete 
Wherein the sunset and the sunrise 

meet. 

So in the region of thy fearless faith, 

No hour of darkness marked th' ap- 
proach of death, 

But ere the evening's splendor was 
withdrawn 

Fair flushed the light along the hills of 
dawn. 

Eliza Scudder. 



A CHOICE 

It must have been for one of us, my own, 
To drink this cup and eat this bitter 

bread ; 
Had not my tears upon thy face been 

shed 
Thy tears had dropt on mine; if I alone 
Did not walk now, thy spirit would have 

known 
My loneliness; and did my feet not tread 
This weary path and steep, thy feet had 

bled 
For mine, and thy mouth had for mine 

made moan. 

And so it comforts me, yea, not in vain 
To think of thine eternity 
To know thine eyes are tearless, though 
mine weep; 

i6 



IRogemaris aiiD IRue 17 

And when this cup's last bitterness I 
drain, 

One thought shall still its primal sweet- 
ness keep, — 

Thou had'st the peace, and I the un- 
dying pain. 

Anonymous. 



HERE AND THERE 

We sit beside the lower feast to-day, 

She at the higher. 
Our voices falter as we bend to pray . 

In the great choir 
Of happy saints she sings and does not 
tire. 

We break the bread of patience and the 
wine 

Of tears we share, 
She tastes the vintage of that glorious 
Vine, 

Whose branches fair, 
Set for the healing of all nations are. 

I wonder is she sorry for our pain. 

Or if, grown wise, 
She wondering smiles, and counts them 

idle, vain, — 
i8 



IRoeemats anO IRuc 19 

These heavy sighs, 
These longings for her face and happy 
eyes. 

Smile on then darling. As God wills is 
best, 

We loose our hold, 
Content to leave thee to the deeper rest, 

The safer fold, 
To joys, immortal youth while we grow 
old. 

Content the cold and wintry day to share, 

The icy wave, 
And know thee in eternal summer there. 

Beyond the grave, 
Content to give thee to the Love that 
gave. 

Anonymous. 



PRAYER IN SLEEP 

I SAW our darling in my dreams 

As patient, weak, and frail 
As in those last sweet days before 

She passed beyond the veil. 

And with an anxious questioning 

I thought of all the care, 
The heavy burden of our life 

God giveth us to bear. 

How can her feebleness sustain 
This last new stroke of grief ? 

The storm she dreaded breaks at last, 
God send her some relief ! 

So fervently I prayed for her 

That God would guard and keep 

Her dear heart from the touch of woe: 
It woke me from my sleep. 
20 



1Ros5cmarg aiiD TRue 21 

Then, I remembered she was gone; 

I knew she was in Heaven 
Beyond the shadow of the cloud 

That o'er our sky had driven. 

No anxious care need wake for her. 

No grief, no fear, no prayer, 
There is no trouble that can reach 

'Her gentle spirit there. 

Thank God, who took her safely Home 

Before this sorrow fell ! 
It loses half its sting for us, 

Since she is shielded well. 

No wish that love can frame for her, 
Nor hearts most full request, 

But God hath granted to her peace — 
Heaven's peace: let love find rest. 

Anonymous. 



HEAVEN 

Beyond these chilling winds and 
gloomy skies, 

Beyond Death's cloudy portal, 
There is a land where beauty never dies, 

Where love becomes immortal. 

A land whose life is never dimmed by 
shade, 

Whose fields are ever vernal, 
Where nothing beautiful can ever fade, 

But blooms for aye, eternal. 

The City's shining towers we may not 
see 
With our dim earthly vision. 
For Death, the silent warden, keeps the 
key 
That ope's the gates elysian. 

22 



TRoscmarg an& IRue 23 

But sometimes, when adown the Western 
sky 

A fiery sunset Hngers, 
Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly, 

Unlocked by unseen fingers. 

And while they stand a moment half ajar, 
Gleams from the inner glory 

Stream brightly through the azure vault 
afar, 
And half reveal the story. 

Oh, land unknown! Oh, land of love di- 
vine! 
Father, all-wise, eternal! 
Oh, guide these wandering wayworn feet 
of mine 
Into those pastures vernal. 

A. W. Priest. 



SOMETIME 

Sometime when all life's lessons have 

been learned, 
And sun and stars forevemiore have set, 
The things which our weak judgments 

here have spurned. 
The things o'er which we grieved with 

lashes wet 
Will flash before us out of life's dark 

night. 
As stars shine most in deeper tints of 

blue, 
And we shall see how all God's plans 

were right, 
And how what seemed reproof was love 

most true. 

And we shall see, how, while we frown 
and sigh, 

24 



IRoBemari? an& IRue 25 

God's plans go on, as best for you and 
me; 

How, when we called, He heeded not 
our cry, 

Because His wisdom to the end could see: 

And even as prudent parents disallow 

Too much of sweets to craving baby- 
hood, 

So God perchance is keeping from us 
now 

Life's sweetest things, because it seemeth 
good. 

And if, sometimes, commingled with 

life's wine, 
We find the wormwood, and rebel and 

shrink, 
Be sure a wiser hand than yours or 

mine. 
Pours out this potion for our lips to 

drink. 
And if some friend you love is lying low 
Where human kisses cannot reach his 
face, 



26 IRoaemar)? anO IRue 

Oh, do not blame the loving Father so, 
But wear your sorrow with obedient 
grace ; 

And you shall shortly know that length- 
ened breath 

Is not the sweetest gift God sends His 
friend, 

But that sometimes the sable pall of 
death 

Conceals the fairest boon His love can 
send. 

If we could push ajar the gates of life, 

And stand within, and all God's work- 
ings see, 

We could interpret all this doubt and 
strife, 

And for each mystery could find a key : 

But not to-day ; then be content poor 

heart ; 
God's plans, like lilies, pure and white 

unfold ; 
We must not tear the close-shut leaves 

apart, 



IRoseman^ anO IRue 27 

Time will reveal the calyxes of gold. 

And if, with patient toil, we reach the 
land 

Where tired feet in sandals loose may 
rest, 

When we shall clearly know and under- 
stand, 

I think we then will say that " God knew 
best". 

May Riley Smith. 



SOMEWHERE 

How can I cease to pray for thee? Some- 
where 
In God's great universe thou art to- 
day; 
Can He not reach thee with His tender 
care? 
Can He not hear me when for thee I 
pray? 

What matters it to Him who holds with- 
in 
The hollow of His hand all worlds, all 
space, 
That thou art done with earthly pain 
and sin? 
Somewhere within His ken thou hast 
a place. 

Somewhere thou livest and hast need of 
Him; 

28 



IRosemari^ aiiD IRue 29 

Somewhere thy soul sees higher heights 

to dimb; 
And somewhere still there may be 

valleys dim 
That thou must pass to reach the hills 

sublime. 

Then all the more because thou canst 

not hear 
Poor human words of blessing, will I 

pray: 
" true, brave heart, God bless thee, 

wheresoe'er 

In His great universe thou art to-day!" 

Anonymous. 



COMMISSIONED 

What can I do for thee, beloved, 
Whose feet so little while ago 
Trod the same wayside dust with mine, 
And now, up paths I do not know, 
Speed, without sound, or sign? 

What can I do? The perfect life 
All fresh, and fair, and beautiful, 
Has opened its wide arms to thee. 
Thy cup is overbrimmed and full, 
Nothing remains for me. 

I used to do so many things: 
Love thee, and chide thee, and caress; 
Brush little straws from off thy way. 
Tempering, with my poor tenderness, 
The heat of thy short day. 

Not much, but very sweet to give, 
And it is grief of griefs to bear, 
30 



TRoeemare aiiD TRue 31 

That all these ministries are o'er : 
And thou, so happy, love, elsewhere, 
Dost need me nevermore. 

And I can do for thee but this — 
(Working on blindly, knowing not 
If I may give thee pleasure so) — 
Out of my own dull, shadowed lot 
I can arise and go 

To sadder lives, and darker homes, 
A messenger, dear heart from thee, 
Who wast on earth a comforter; 
And say to those who welcome me, 
"I am sent forth by her." 

Feeling, the while, how good it is 
To do thy errands thus, and think 
It may be, in the blue far space, 
Thou watchest from the Heaven's brink, 
A smile upon thy face. 

And when the day's work ends with day, 
And star-eyed Evening, stealing in. 
Waves her cool hand to flying Noon, 



32 TRogemarg anJ) IRue 

And restless, surging thoughts begin 
Like sad bells out of tune, 

I'll pray: "Dear Lord, to whose great 

love 
Nor bound, nor limit-line is set, 
Give to my darling, I implore, 
Some new sweet joy, not tasted yet, 
For I can give no more." 

And with the words my thoughts shall 

climb 
With following feet the heavenly stair 
Up which thy steps so lately sped. 
And seeing thee so happy there, 
Come back, half comforted. 

Susan Cooledge. 



PARTING 

What shall I say to thee sweetest, kneel- 
ing beside thee in tears, 

Knowing that here ends the measure of 
all thy beautiful years; 

Feeling the death-seal of silence between 
us henceforth from this day, 

Which of all lovingest things that my 
heart for thee holds, shall I say? 

Can I beg thee for dear words of parting, 

with eager and passionate breath? 
Or lament thy so instant translation 

from life, to the marble of death? 
And if I named all thou art leaving, 

should it be indeed matter of grief. 
That thou leavest the sowing for reaping, 

the seed, for the full-ripened sheaf? 

3 33 



34 IRoscmar^ anD IRuc 

But what hast thou left then, dear 

sleeper, of all that the soul counteth 

worth,— 
Opening thine eyes upon Heaven, as 

they closed on the gladness of 

earth ? 
Thou art gone from this flower-crowned 

brightness to God's glowing garden 

above, 
Gone from our poor anxious loving, to 

infinite riches of love. 

No shadow of death on thy pathway, 
no river in struggle to cross. 

No anguish, or trial of parting, no mo- 
ment to picture a loss; 

But in one happy instant the angel 
who carries the golden key 

Hath unlocked the wonderful portals, 
and opened all Heaven to thee. 

Oh, mystic, unspeakable glory ! I hnger 
and listen outside, 

Though I catch but in echo the faintest, 
the joy of the un-swelling tide; 



IRosemari^anOlRue 35 

But I know thou art there with the har- 
pers on the banks of the crystal sea, 

And knowing such things, beloved, I can 
say but one thing to thee. 

See, I place in thy hands these lilies, 
like those that the angel brought 

For the day of Annunciation, and I 
have but this one glad thought ; 

Pressing my kisses down on thy death- 
sweet face, I say, 

" From my heart of hearts, my darling, 
I give thee joy, to-day." 

Anonymous. 



CHRISTUS CONSOLATOR 

Beside the dead I knelt in prayer, 
And felt a presence as I prayed; 

Lo, it was Jesus standing there; 
He smiled: "Be not afraid." 

** Lord, Thou hast conquered Death we 
know; 

Restore again to life" I said, 
** This one who died an hour ago. " 

He smiled: "She is not dead. " 

"Asleep then, as Thyself did'st say; 

Yet Thou canst lift the lids that keep 
Her prisoned eyes from ours away." 

He smiled: " She doth not sleep. " 

" Nay then, tho' haply she do wake, 
And look upon some fairer dawn, 

Restore her to our hearts that ache." 
He smiled: " She is not gone. " 
36 



•Roscmars anO TRuc 37 

" Alas, too well we know our loss, 
Nor hope again our joy to touch, 

Until the stream of Death we cross." 
He smiled: " There is no such. " 

" Yet our beloved seem so far, 

The while we yearn to feel them near, 
Albeit with Thee we trust they are." 

He smiled: "And I am here." 

"Dear Lord, how shall we know that 
they 
Still walk unseen with us and Thee, 
Nor sleep, nor wander far away?" 
He smiled: "Abide in Me." 

Anonymous. 



HOLY TEARS 

Yes, thou may'st weep, for Jesus shed 

Such tears as thou art shedding now, 
When for the Hving or the dead 

Sorrow lay heavy on His brow. 
He sees thee weep yet doth not blame 

The weakness of thy flesh and heart, 
Thy human nature is the same, 

As that in which He took a part. 
He knows its weakness, for He felt 

The crushing power of pain and woe, 
How body, soul, and spirit melt 

And faint beneath the stunning blow. 
Turn thee to Him, to Him alone, 

For all that our poor lips can say 
To soothe thee, broken-hearted one. 

Would fail to comfort thee to-day. 
We will not speak to thee, but sit 

In prayreful silence by thy side; 
38 



!Ro6emarB an& IRue 39 

Grief has its ebbs and flows — 'tis fit 
Our love should wait the ebbing tide. 

Jesus Himself will comfort thee 
In His own time, in His own way. 

And haply more than " two or three' ' 
Unite in prayer for thee to-day. 

Anonymous. 



SOME OTHER DAY 

Some day or other I shall surely come 

Where true hearts wait for me; 
Then let me learn the language of that 
home, 
While here on earth I be, 
Lest my poor lips for want of words be 
dumb, 
In that **High Company." 

L. C. MOULTON. 



NOT CHANGED, BUT GLORIFIED 

"The trumpet shall sound and the dead 
shall be raised incorruptible." 

"Not changed, but glorified." Oh, beau- 
teous language 

For those who weep, 
Mourning the loss of some dear face 
departed. 

Fallen asleep. 
Hushed into silence, never more to 
comfort 

The hearts of men, 
Gone, like the silence of another country 
Beyond our ken. 

Oh, dearest dead, we saw thy white soul 
shining 

Behind the face 
Bright with the beauty and celestial 
glory 

Of an immortal grace. 
40 



1R06cmari2 aiiD IRuc 41 

What wonder that we stumble, faint 
and weeping, 

And sick with fears, 
Since thou hast left us all alone with 
sorrow, 

And blind with tears. 

Can it be possible no words shall welcome 

Our coming feet ? 
How will it look, that face that we have 
cherished 

When next we meet? 
Will it be changed, — so glorified, and 
saintly 

That we shall know it not? 
Will there be nothing that will say " I 
love thee, 

And I have not forgot ? " 

Ah, faithless heart, the same loved face, 
transfigured, 

Shall meet thee there, 
Less sad, less wistful, in immortal beauty, 

Divinely fair. 



42 "Rogemars aiiD TRue 

The mortal veil, washed pure with many 
weepings, 

Is rent away. 
And the great soul that sat within its 
prison 

Hath found the day. 

In the clear morning of that other coun- 
try, 

In Paradise, 

With the same face that we have loved 
and cherished, 

She shall arise. 
Let us be patient, we who mourn with 
weeping 

Some vanished face, 
The Lord has taken but to add more 
beauty , 

And a diviner grace. 

And we shall find once more beyond 
earth's sorrows. 

Beyond these skies, 
In the fair city of the " sure foundations" 

Those heavenly eyes, 



IRosemari^ anD IRue 43 

With the same welcome shining through 
their sweetness 

That met us here, 
Eyes, from whose beauty God has ban- 
ished weeping, 

And wiped away the tear. 

Think of us, dearest one, while o'er life's 
waters 

We seek the land, 
Missing thy voice, thy touch, and the 
true helping 

Of thy pure hand, — 
Till through the storm and tempest, 
safely anchored, 

Just on the other side. 
We find thy dear face looking through 
death's shadows 

Not changed, but glorified. 
Anonymous. 



FAITHFUL LOVE 

They say if our beloved dead 

Should seek the old familiar place, 

Some stranger would be there instead, 
And they would find no welcome face. 

I cannot tell how it might be 

In other homes — but this I know, 

Could my lost darling come to me 
That she would never find it so. 

Ofttimes the flowers have come and gone, 
Ofttimes the winter winds have blown 

The while her peaceful rest went on, 
And I have learned to live alone. 

Have slowly learned from day to day 
In all life's tasks to bear my part, 

But whether grave or whether gay, 
I hide her memory in my heart. 
44 



'R06emacs anD IRue 45 

Fond faithful love has blessed my way, 
And friends are round me true and 
tried, 

They have their place; but her's to-day, 
Is empty as the day she died. 

How would I spring with bated breath 
And joy too deep for word or sign, 

To take my darling home from death, 
And once again to call her mine. 

I dare not dream the blissful dream, 
It fills my heart with wild unrest, 

Where yonder cold white marbles gleam 
She still must slumber, — God knows 
best. 

But this I know, that those who say 

Our best beloved could find no place 
Have never hungered every day 

Through years and years for one sweet 
face. 

Troy Times. 



THE VOICE OF THE DEPARTED 

I SHINE in the light of God, 

His likeness stamps my brow, 
Through the Valley of Death my feet 
have trod, 

And I reign in glory now. 
No breaking heart is here, 

No keen and thrilling pain, 
No wasted cheek where the frequent tear 

Has rolled and left its stain. 

I have found the heaven of joy, 

I am one of the angel band; 
To my head a crown is given 

And a harp is in my hand ; 
I have learned the song they sing 

Whom Jesus hath made free, 
And the glorious walls on high still ring 

With my new-born melody. 
46 



"Kosemarg ano "Rue 47 

No sin, no grief, no pain, 

Safe in my happy home 
My fears all fled, my doubts all slain, 

My hour of triumph come. 
Friends of my mortal years, 

The trusted and the tried. 
You are walking still in the Valley of 
Tears, 

But I am at your side. 

Do I forget? Oh, no! 

For Memory's golden chain. 
Shall bind my heart to the hearts below 
Till they meet and touch again; 
Each link is strong and bright. 

And Love's electric chain 
Flows freely down like a river of light 

To the world from which I came. 

Do you mourn when another star 
Shines out from the glittering sky? 

Do you weep when the voice of war 
And the rage of conflict die ? 



48 IRosemari^ anD "Rue 

Then why should your tears run down, 
And your hearts with grief be riven, 

tor another gem in the Saviour's crown, 
And another soul in heaven? 

The Changed Cross. 



SPEAK OF ME 

Do not forget me. I would not my name, 

As a strange language, to your ears be- 
came 

But seldom uttered, only heard with 
sighs, 

As harp-string to the moaning wind 
replies : 

Not so, not so. 

Speak of me when the summer day is 

bright 
With glorious sunbeams, and the golden 

light 
Streams through the lattice of my own 

green bower. 
Let me be there in that rejoicing hour, 
At least in name. 

4 49 



50 •RoeemarB anO IRue 

Speak of me when the twiUght's purple- 
haze 

Shuts each fair prospect from your ar- 
dent gaze, 

And turning to the quiet joys of home, 

Sweet memories of departed dear ones 
come 

To stir the heart. 

Speak of me when in heaven's blue arch 

afar, 
Shines forth in glory each effulgent star; 
Say how I loved their luster,- — that my 

name 
May ever dwell amid their hosts of flame 
To meet your eyes. 

Speak of me when my own sweet garden 

rose 
On silent stem in moss-clad beauty 

grows ; 
I would be linked to all the flowers that 

bloom, 
Till ye might half forget the empty tomb 
Where I shall lie. 



TRogcmarB and IRue 51 

Speak of me when around the winter 

hearth, 
Young hearts are cheerful with the 

season's mirth, 
And strike the soft guitar I loved so well, 
And let its chords in some old ballad tell 
A tale of me. 

Speak of me not in sorrow, for you know 
To what calm skies and gentle streams 

I go; 
To flowers that fade not through eternal 

spring, 
All robed in white to wear an angel's 

wing, 

An angel's crown. 

Speak of me then with gladness, not 

with tears. 
For when have flitted by a few short 

years, 
Ye, too, shall pass from earthly care and 

pain, 
And we shall meet in Paradise again, 
To part no more. 

Anonymous. 



A HEAVENLY BIRTHDAY 

'Tis your birthday, my precious, my 
darling ; 
Or would be, if you were on earth: 
I know it must still be your birthday, 

Though born to your heavenly birth. 
I know that the angels are fair, and as 
sweet, 
As these fair earthly flowers I entwine; 
Their love may be perfect and pure and 
complete, 
But never more tender than mine. 
Are you glad in their gladness, my 
darling ? 
Do you laugh in your innocent glee ? 
Or sad in the brightness of heaven 
In thinking of home and of me? 

In the night when I long for your 
presence. 
And water my pillow with tears, 
When I pray for the touch of your 
fingers, 
To comfort my sorrow and fears; 
So light is the veil that's between us, 
52 



"Rosemarg aiiD IRue 53 

The mother and child are so near, 
The breath of my soul seems suspended 

Your accents so tender to hear. 
Oh, my glorified darling, most precious 

Of all the sweet gifts that were mine, 
I have lent you, not lost you, my 
darling, — 

Only lent, to the Love that's divine. 

There are moments so sweet and so 
solemn 

That my soul bursts its prison of pain, 
And soars to the realm of the spirit, 

And meets my own loved one again ; 
Then, calm from that saintly com- 
munion, 

I defy every foe of the world; 
I scorn every breath of contumely. 

Every shaft by its ignorance hurled. 
No garments of darkness and mourning 

Should we wear for a spirit like thee. 
Only solemn thanksgiving, and praises. 

That you from earth's sorrows are free. 

Anonymous. 



MEMORY 

I HAVE a room whereinto no one enters 

Save I myself alone. 
There sits a blessed memory on a throne, 

There my life centres. 
While winter comes and goes — te- 
dious comer ! 

And while its nip-wind blows ; 
While bloom the bloodless lily, and 
warm rose 

Of lavish summer. 
If any should force entrance, he might 
see there 

One buried, yet not dead, 
Before whose face I no more bow my 
head, 

Or bow my knee there; 
But often in my worn life's autumn 
weather 

I watch there with clear eyes, 
And think how it will be in Paradise, 
When we 're together. 

Christina Rossettt. 
54 



RESIGNATION 

There is no flock, however watched and 
tended, 

But one dead lamb is there, 
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, 

But has one vacant chair. 

The air is full of farewells to the dying, 
And mourning, for the dead ; 

The heart of Rachel, for her children 
crying, 
Will not be comforted! 

Let us be patient! These severe afflic- 
tions 

Not from the ground arise. 
But oftentimes celestial benedictions 

Assume this dark disguise. 

55 



56 IRosemari? anD IRiie 

We see but dimly through the mists and 
vapors ; 
Amid these earthly damps 
What seem to us but sad, funereal 
tapers 
May be Heaven's distant lamps. 

There is no death ! What seems so is 
transition ; 
This life of mortal breath 
Is but a suburb of the life elysian, 
Whose portals we call death. 

She is not dead, — the child of our affec- 
tion. — 
But gone unto that school 
Where she no longer needs our poor 
protection, 
And Christ alone doth rule. 

In that great cloister's stillness and 

seclusion 
By guardian angels led, 
Safe from temptation, safe from sin's 

pollution. 



IRosemarg anD IRue 57 

She lives, whom we call dead. 
Day after day we think what she is doing 

In those bright fields of air; 
Year after year, her tender steps pur- 
suing, 

Behold her grown more fair. 

Thus do we walk with her, and keep 
unbroken 
The bond which nature gives. 
Thinking that our remembrance, though 
unspoken. 
May reach her where she lives. 

Not as a child shall we again behold her ; 

For when with raptures wild 
In our embraces we again enfold her, 

She will not be a child ; 

But a fair maiden, in her Father's man- 
sion, 
Clothed with celestial grace; 

And beautiful with all the souls' ex- 
pansion 



58 IRosemarg anO IRue 

Shall we behold her face. 
And though at times impetuous with 
emotion 
That will not be suppressed, 
The swelling heart heaves moaning like 
the ocean, 
That cannot be at rest. — 

We will be patient, and assuage the 
feeling 

We may not wholly stay; 
By silence sanctifying, not concealing. 

The grief that must have way. 

Henry W. Longfellow. 



LONGINGS 

O MY friend, O my dearly beloved, 

Do you feel, do you know, 
How the times and the seasons are going, 

Are they weary and slow? 

Does it seem to you long — in the 
heavens — • 

My true, tender mate, 
Since here we were living together. 

Where dying I wait? 

'Tis three years as we count by the 
springtimes. 

By the birth of the flowers, 
What are years — aye eternities even — 

To love such as ours? 

Side by side are we still, though a shadow 
Between us doth fall,, 
59 



6o IRoscmars anD IRue 

We are parted, and yet we're not parted 
Not wholly and all. 

For still you are round and about me. 

Almost in my reach, 
Though I miss the old pleasant com- 
munion 

Of smile and of speech. 

And I long to hear what you are seeing 

And what you have done, 
Since the earth faded out from your 
vision. 

And the heavens begun. 

Since you dropped off the darkening 
fillet 

Of clay from your sight, 
And opened your eyes upon glory 

Ineffably bright. 

Though little my life has accomplished, 
My poor hands have wrought, — 

I have lived what has seemed to be ages 
In feeling and thought. 



TRosemarg anD TRue 6i 

Since our paths grew so narrow, 

So near the unknown, 
That I turned back from following after, 

And you went on alone. 

For we speak of you cheerfully always 

As journeying on, — 
Not as one who is dead do we name you. 

We say you are " gone.' ' 

For how could we speak of you sadly, 
We who watched while the grace 

Of Eternity's wonderful beauty 
Grew over your face? 

Do we call the star lost that is hidden 

In the great light of morn ? 
Or fashion a shroud for the young child 

In the night it is bom? 

Yet behold, this were wise to their folly 
Who mourn, sore distressed, 

When a soul who is summoned — be- 
lieving. 
Enters into its rest. 



62 TRoscmars ant) IRuc 

And for you, never any more sweetly 

Went to rest, true and deep, 
Since the first of our Lord's blessed 
martyrs 
Having prayed, fell asleep. 

Phcebe Cary. 



THOU AND I 

Strange, strange, for thee and me, 

Sadly afar ; 
Thou, safe beyond above, 

I, 'neath the star; 
Thou, where flowers deathless spring, 

I, where they fade; 
Thou, in God's Paradise, 

I, 'mid the shade; 

Thou, where each gale breathes balm, 

I, tempest- tossed ; 
Thou, where true joy is found, 

I, where 'tis lost; 
Thou, counting ages thine, 

I, not the morrow; 
Thou, learning more of bliss, 

I, more of sorrow; 
63 



64 1Ro0emari2 anO IRuc 

Thou, in eternal peace, 

I, 'mid earth's strife; 
Thou, where care hath no name, 

I, where 't is life; 
Thou, without need of hope, 

I, where 't is vain; 
Thou, with wings dropping light, 

I, with time's chain. 

Strange, strange, for thee and me, 

Loved, loving ever; 
Thou by life's deathless fount, 

I, near death's river; 
Thou, winning wisdom's lore, 

I, strength to trust; 
Thou, 'midst the Seraphim, 

I, in the dust. 

Phcebe Cary. 



THEIR THOUGHTS AND OUR 
THOUGHTS 

Six years have faded since she went 

away, 
Six years for her to live in heavenly 

places, 
To learn the look of blessed angels' faces, 
Six years to grow as only angels may. 

I wonder oft what she is doing there 
By the still waters which forever flow; 
What mighty secrets she has come to 

know, 
What graces won, divinely sweet and 

fair. 

I wonder who of those who went before 
And those who followed on her shining 
way, 
5 65 



66 TRoacmarg atiD IRue 

She has met there in Heaven's auroral 

day, 
And if they talk their earth-life o'er and 

o'er? 

I think this very morning they are met, 
She and one other only three years gone. 
In some dear place in Heaven secure 

and lone, 
To talk of things they never can forget. 

For I am sure that naught of their new 
Hfe, 

Nor grace nor glory that is there re- 
vealed 

The fountains of past love have ever 
sealed. 

But these will ever be with sweetness 
rife. 

I cannot think of them as they are now, 
Of the new light that shines upon their 

faces, 
I cannot image forth their angel graces. 
And I am glad that it is even so. 



IRosemarg anD IRue 67 

So we will think of them just as they 

were. 
Their voices sweet, and all their winning 

ways, 
And thoughts like these shall help us 

through the days, 
Until we go to meet them where they are. 

J. W. Chadwick. 



I GIVE THEE JOY 

I GIVE thee joy my darling, — 
Escaped, — set free, set free; 

Thy young Ufe — ^hours of sorrow — 
Wore on how wearily: 

There is no sorrow yonder, 
Where Jesus welcomes thee. 

I give thee joy my darling, 
Thy sleep is calm and sweet, 

And thy bosom heaves no longer 
With that painful fluttering beat: 

Till the resurrection morning 
Lie still, O tired feet! 

I give thee joy my darling, 
The weight is off thy breast; 

This world is dark and stormy, — 
With Jesus, that is best: 
68 



TRosemarg aiiD IRue 69 

The last tear-drops have fallen, 
Sweet eyes, now take your rest. 

I give thee joy my darling, 
See where thy mother stands, 

And watches with rejoicing 
Those motionless dear hands; 

And thinks of thy dear spirit 
Among the angel bands. 

I give thee joy my darling, 

I, left here in the night, 
Can see, beyond the river, 

Thy young brow bathed in light; 
And on me falls the radiance 

Of thy garments, shining white. 

I give thee joy my darling, 

For Jesus is thy King; 
And to His blessed presence 

He will all His people bring. 
There we, one day, together, 

Shall Hallelujah sing. 

Anonymous. 



WHEN I REMEMBER 

When I remember what a certain haven 
Your steadfast heart was for my 
every grief, 
How for each care and sorrow that op- 
pressed me, 
Your voice gave courage, and your 
smile relief. 

When I remember how you would have 
shielded 
My untried spirit from a thought of 
pain, 
I, in my desolation growing selfish. 
From quiet sleep would call you back 
again. 

Ah, no. You do not sleep — you have 
awakened 

70 



•jRoacmarg aiiD TRue 71 

Unto a life hid from my straining eyes ; 
In bliss you walk, with other happy 

spirits, 
That place of rest which we call 

Paradise. 

Have you forgotten in that upper splen- 
dor, 
The few bright hours we spent to- 
gether, here? 
Can all the blissful joys of heaven 
render 
That happy time less real, or less dear? 

Do you ne'er long to leave those Courts 
of Glory, 
Just for one look at her who calls in 
vain ? 
Will not the Father in His loving mercy. 
For one blest moment let you back 
again ? 

Nay, nay, I would not have you see my 
weakness, — 



12 IRoeemarg and IRue 

You, who were always loyal, brave, 
and strong; 
I would not have my wild complainings 
reach you, 

To mar the sweetness of the victor- 
song. 

'Tis true I, weakly, had well nigh for- 
gotten 
Your joy and triumph, in my lonely 
pain: 
Oh, Love, believe me, from that happy 
region, 
I would not call thee back to earth 
again! 

Anonymous. 



THE LOVED AND LOST 

The loved and lost. Why do we call 
them lost 
Because we miss them from our on- 
ward road? 

God's unseen angel o'er our pathway 
crossed, 

Looked on us all, and loving them the 
most, 
Straightway relieved them from life's 
weary load. 

They are not lost — they are within the 
door, 
That shuts out loss, and every hurtful 
thing — 
With angels bright, and loved ones gone 
before, 

73 



74 IRoeemars ant> IRue 

In their Redeemer's presence evermore 
And God, Himself, their Lord, and 
Judge and King. 

And this, we call "a loss." Oh, selfish 

sorrow 
Of selfish hearts ! Oh, we of little 

faith ! 
Let us look round, some argument to 

borrow 
Why we in patience should await the 

morrow 
That surely must succeed this night of 

death. 

Ay, look upon this dreary desert path, 
The thorns, and thistles wheresoe'er 
we turn, 
What trials and what tears, what wrongs 

and wrath. 
What struggles and what strife, the 
journey hath. 
They have escaped from these, — and 
lo ! we mourn. 



IRosemare anD IRue 75 

Ask the poor sailor, when the wreck is 

done, 
Who with his treasure strove the shore 

to reach. 
While with the raging waves he battled 

on, 
Was it not joy, when every joy seemed 

gone. 
To see his loved ones landed on the 

beach? 

A poor wayfarer, leading by the hand 
A little child, had halted by the 
well 
To wash from off her feet the clinging 

sand. 
And tell the tired boy of thatbrightland, 
Where, this long journey passed, they 
longed to dwell. 

When lo! the Lord who many mansions 
had, 
Drew near and looked upon the suffer- 
ing twain, 



76 "RosemarB anD "Rue 

Then, pitying spake, "Give me the Httle 

lad. 
In strength renewed, and glorious beauty 
clad, 
r 11 bring him with Me when I come 
again." 

Did she make answer, selfishly and 
wrong, 
Nay, but the woes I feel, he too must 
share. 
Or rather, bursting into grateful song, 
She went her way, rejoicing, and made 

strong 
To struggle on, since he was freed 
from care. 

We will do likewise. Death hath made 

no breach. 
In love and sympathy, in hope and 

trust; 
No outward sign or sound our ears can 

reach, 
But there 's an inward spiritual speech, 



IRoaemaris anD IRue 77 

That greets us still, though mortal 
tongues be dust. 

It bids us do the work that they laid 
down; 
Take up the song, where they broke 
off the strain: 
So, journeying till we reach the heavenly 

town 
Where are laid up our treasures, and 
our crown, 
And our lost loved ones will be found 
again. 

Anonymous. 



THY SON LIVETH 
When back the buds of spring shall come 
To deck the pleasant lea, 
How we shall miss the little hands 
That brought them with such glee. 
But those small hands have gathered 

flowers 
That nevermore shall fade, like ( -rs. 

We may not see the sunshine dwell 
Upon his golden hair, 
So lovingly it seemed the light 
Was caught and tangled there, — 
But yet, a brighter sheen is shed 
Upon that little golden head. 

When fast across the garden lawn 
The children rush to play, 
One little pair of glancing feet 
78 



IRoaemacB anC) IRue 7g 

Will seem so far away; 

But, oh, those little feet have trod 

The very garden of our God ! 

Rev. W. H. Draper. 



A CHILD'S DEATH 

Thou touchest us lightly, O God, in 
our grief; 
But how rough is thy touch in our 
prosperous hours. 
All was bright, but Thou earnest, so 
dreadful and brief, 
Like a thunderbolt falling in gardens 
of flowers. 

My children, my children, they clus- 
tered all round me. 
Like a rampart which sorrow could 
never break through; 
Each change in their beautiful lives 
only bound me 
In a spell of delight which no care 
could undo. 

80 



IRoscmars anD IRue 8i 

But the eldest ! O Father, how glorious 
he was, 
With the soul looking out through his 
fountain-like eyes 
Thou lovest Thy sole-bom, and had I 
not cause 
The treasure Thou gavest me. Father, 
to prize? 

But the lily-bed lies beaten down by the 
rain, 
And the tallest is gone from the place 
where he grew; 
My tallest, my fairest, oh, let me com- 
plain ; 
For all life is unroofed, and the tem- 
pests beat through. 

I murmur not, Father, my will is with 
Thee; 
I knew at the first that my darling was 
Thine: 

HadstThou taken him earUer, O Fath- 
er ! — but see — 



82 IRoscmars anO "Rue 

Thou hadst left him so long, that I 
thought he was mine. 

Thou hast taken the fairest; he was 
fairest to me ; 
Thou hast taken the fairest; 't is 
always Thy way: 
Thou hast taken the dearest; was he 
dearest to Thee? 
Thou art welcome, thrice welcome: — 
yet woe is the day. 

Thou hast honored my child by the 
speed of Thy choice 
Thou hast crowned him with glory 
o'erwhelmed him with mirth; 
He sings up in heaven, with his sweet- 
sounding voice, 
While I, a saint's mother, am weeping 
on earth. 

Yet oh, for that voice, which is thrilling 
through heaven. 
One moment my ears with its music 
to slake. 



IRosemars an& IRue 83 

Oh, no, not for worlds would I have 
him regiven. 
Yet I long to have back what I would 
not retake. 

I grudge him, and grudge him not. 
Father, Thou knowest 
The foolish confusions of innocent 
sorrow ; 
It is thus in Thy husbandry, Saviour, 
Thou sowest 
The grief of to-day, for the grace of 
to-morrow. 

Thou art blooming in heaven, my Blos- 
som, my Pride. 
And thy beauty makes Jesus and 
Angels more glad: 
Saints' mothers have sung when their 
eldest-born died. 
Oh, why my own saint, is thy mother 
so sad? 

Go, go with thy God, with thy Saviour, 
my child. 



84 •Rosemary anD IRue 

Thou art His; I am His; and thy 

sisters are His: 
But to-day thy fond mother is wild, — 
To think that her son is an angel in 

bliss. 

Oh, forgive me, dear Saviour, on heaven's 
bright shore 
Should I still in my child find a sepa- 
rate joy? 
While I lie in the light of Thy face ever- 
more, 
May I think heaven brighter because 
of my boy? 

F. W. Faber. 



LENT, NOT LOST 

All is not lost that's passed beyond 

our keeping, 
Light is not gone though sight be dim 

with weeping; 
Sweet voices still are sounds of love 

repeating, 
Though heavy ears scarce catch the tones 

retreating. 

Wave after wave, in endless circles 
flowing. 

Break on the shore to which our barks 
are going ; 

Our parted treasures wafted there be- 
fore us, 

To-morrow's dawn may safely all restore 
us. 

The gales of heaven, their odorous fresh- 
ness bringing, 

85 



86 IRogemarg ant) IRue 

With swifter speed our battered hulls 

are winging, 
And clouds that hide the sun from our 

discerning, 
Quench not the distant beacons steady 

burning. 

Brief is the space that from our loved 

divides us; 
Thin is the mist that from their haven 

hides us: 
Soft hands on high are beckoning signals 

holding, 
White arms wait patient for our hearts 

enfolding. 

There, where from sight our blessed ones 

have vanished. 
There, where our Father dear, recalls 

His banished, 
There lies the home that knoweth no 

removing. 
There lies the love that never needeth 

proving. 



IRosemar^ anD IRue 87 

There dawns are pure, and purple lights 

unfading ; 
On happy brows dull sorrow casts no 

shading; 
There gentle souls of coming ills are 

fearless, 
And eyes once drooping, shining now, 

and tearless. 

There all, and always, dwell within His 

keeping. 
Who, sleepless, careth while our care is 

sleeping: 
How can we dare to falter in our praying, 
Their perfect bliss against our sorrow 

weighing ? 

Yes, we must cease unwise and vain 
complaining ; 

We have but loaned, our title still re- 
taining; 

Love hath a lien, that time nor death 
can sever; 

Ours are our own, forever and forever. 



A FAREWELL 

Farewell, since nevermore for thee 
The sun comes up our eastern skies, 

Less bright henceforth shall sunshine be 
To some fond hearts and saddened 
eyes. 

There are, who, for thy last long sleep. 
Shall sleep as sweetly nevermore; 

Shall weep because thou canst not weep, 
And grieve that all thy griefs are o'er. 

Sad thrift of love, the loving breast 

On which the aching head was thrown 
Gave up the weary head to rest, 
But kept the aching for its own. 

R. J. 



88 



EVELYN HOPE 

Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead! 

Sit and watch by her side an hour. 
That is her book-shelf, this her bed; 

She plucked that piece of geranium- 
flower, 
Beginning to die, too, in the glass; 

Little has yet been changed, I think: 
The shutters are shut, no light may pass 

Save two long rays through the hinge's 
chink. 

Sixteen years old when she died ! 

Perhaps she had hardly heard my 
name; 
It was not her time to love ; beside 

Her life had many a hope and aim, 
Duties enough and little cares, 

And now was quiet, and now astir, 
89 



go 'Rogcmari^ anO IRue 

Till God's hand beckoned unawares, — 
And her sweet white brow is all of her. 



I have lived (I shall say) so much since 
then 

Given myself up so many times, 
Gained me the gains of various men 

Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes; 
Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope 

Either I missed, or itself missed me: 
And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope ! 

What is the issue? Let us see ! 

I loved you. Evelyn, all the while : 

My heart seemed full as it could hold; 
There was place and to spare for the 
frank young smile 
And the red young mouth, and the 
hair's young gold. 
So hush, — I will give you this leaf to 
keep; 
See, I shut it inside the sweet cold 
hand! 



"Rosemary an& "Rue 91 

There, that is our secret; go to sleep ! 

You will wake and remember, and 

understand. 

Robert Browning. 



WILT THOU FORGET? 

Wilt thou forget me in that other 

sphere, 
Thou, who hast shared my hfe so long in 

this, — 
And straight grown dizzy with that 

greater bHss, 
Fronting heaven's splendor, full, and 

warm, and clear, 
No longer hold the old embraces dear, 
When some sweet seraph crowns thee 

with a kiss? 
Nay, verily ; methinks that thou wouldlst 

miss 
Some slight small thing that thou hast 

cared for here. 
I do not dream, that from those ul- 
timate heights 

Q2 



IRoscmarg aiiD IRue 93 

Thou wilt come back to seek me where 

I bide, — 
But if I follow, patient of thy slights, 
And if I stand there, waiting by thy side, 
Surely thy heart with some old thrill will 

stir, 
And turn thy face toward me, — even 

from her. 

Anonymous. 



ONE YEAR AGO 

What stars have faded from our sky. 
What hope unfolded but to die. 
What dreams, so fondly pondered o'er, 
Forever lost the hues they wore. 
How like a death-bell, sad and slow, 
Tolls through the soul, " one year ago.' ' 

Where is the face we loved to greet, 
The form that graced the fireside seat. 
The gentle smile, the winning way, 
That bless'd our life-path day by day? 
Where fled those accents, soft and low, 
That thrilled our hearts " one year ago" ? 

Ah, vacant as the fireside chair, 
The smile that won, no longer there; 
From door and hall, from porch and 
lawn, 

94 



'Rosemaris anD "Rue 95 

The echo of that voice is gone; 

And we who Hnger only know 

How much we lost *'one year ago." 

Rt. Rev. A. C. Coxe, D.D. 



REMEMBER 

Yet stricken heart, remember, Oh re- 
member. 
How, of human days, he Hved the 
better part: 
April came to bloom, and never chill 
December 
Breathed its killing chills upon the 
head or heart. 

Doomed to know not winter, — only 
spring, — a being 
Trod the flowering April blithely for 
a while, 
Took his fill of music, joy of thought, 
and seeing. 
Came, and stayed, and went, nor 
ever ceased to smile. 
96 



•Roscmari^ anC» IRue 97 

Came, and stayed, and went, and now 
when all is finished 
You alone have crossed the melan- 
choly stream; 
Yours the pang; but his, Oh, his the 
undiminished, 
Undecaying gladness, undeparted 
dream. 

All that life contains of torture, toil, and 
treason. 
Shame, dishonor, death, to him were 
but a name. 
Here a boy he dwelt, through all the 
singing season. 
And ere the day of sorrow departed 
as he came. 

Stevenson. 



IN THIS DIM WORLD 

In this dim world of clouding cares^ 
We rarely know, till 'wildered eyes 
See white wings lessening up the skies, 

The angels with us unawares. 

And thou hast stolen a jewel, Death, 
Shall light thy dark up like a star, 
A beacon kindly from afar 

Our light of love and fainting faith. 

With our best branch in tenderest leaf 
We 've strewn the way our Lord 

doth come, 
And ready for the harvest home, 

His reapers bind our ripest sheaf. 

Our beautiful "bird of light" hath fled. 
Awhile he sat with folded wings, 
98 



IRosemars anO IRue 99 

Sang round us a few hovering s, 
Then straightway into Glory sped. 

Through childhood's morning dawn se- 
rene, 
He walked between us twain, like 

Love, 
While in a robe of Hght above, 
His better angel walked unseen, 

Till life's highway broke bleak and wild; 
Then lest his starry garments trail 
In mire, heart bleed and courage fail. 

The angel's arms caught up the child. 

His wave of life hath backward rolled 
To the great ocean, on whose shore 
We wander up and down, to store 

Some treasures of the times of old. 

And aye we seek and hunger on 
For precious pearls, and relics rare 
Strewn on the sands, for us to wear 

At heart, for love of him that' s gone. 

LOfC. 



loo IRoeemat^ and IRue 

Strange glory streams through Hfe's 
wild rents, 
And through the open door of Death 
We see the Heaven that beckoneth 

To the beloved, going hence. 

God's ichor fills the hearts that bleed; 
The best fruits load the broken bough, 
And in the wounds our sufferings 
plough. 
Immortal Love sows sovereign seed. 

Gerald Massey. 



THRENODIA 

Full short his journey was; no dust 
Of earth unto his sandals clave 
The weary weight that old men must 
He bore not to the grave. 
He seemed a cherub who had lost his way 
And wandered hither, so his stay 
With us was short and 't was most meet 
That he should be no delver in earth's 

clod, 
Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet. 
To stand before his God. 

James Russell Lowell. 



lOI 



A MOTHER'S PRAYER 

O MY lost darling, in thy new-found 

home, 
God grant thou hearest not my sobbing 

moan; 
God grant thou thinkest not on me, 

alone ; 
Nor longest yet that I to thee shouldst 

come. 

Go, spread thy glittering wings before 

God's throne; 
Go, veil thy face before the King of 

Kings; 
But never heed my quivering earthly 

moan. 
Nor let my sighing thrill thy harp's gold 

strings. 

I02 



•Rosemary anC) IRuc 103 

Yet think of me at times. I loved thee 
so. 

And God is Love, and God alone doth 

know 
The depth and beauty of my love for 

thee, — 
My darling, O, my darling, think of me I 

Meta Orred. 



THE LOST CHILD 

It was far to go for the little fellow, 

And I think it was dark out there, 
Away from the sunshine, warm and 
mellow, 
That sweetened his earthly air. 
It was far to go, it was dark I know, 
And it broke my heart that it should 
be so. 

The distance between a joy and a joy, 

Or between a star and a star. 
Some measure like this we may employ, 

Nor measure at last how far. 
And they were not fleet, they were little 

feet 
That stumbled beside me in the street. 
104 



•Rosemary aiiD IRue 105 

Oh, little fellow, dear little fellow, 
Once, where the strange paths crossed 

In magical woods of sunlit-yellow, 
You, lagging behind, were lost — 

Just a step aside; but I knew that wide 

And terrified look, the day you died ! 

When it is day I can dissemble 
And cover from sight my care, 

But when it is dark, in tears I tremble, — 
" What if he be lost out there ? ' ' 

In my troubled sleep, I cower, I weep, 

I am little and lost, and the dark is deep. 

When the ghost moon steals down the 
mountain hollow 
To glide through my window bars, 
I wake and pray to be dead, to follow 
His stumbles between the stars. 

Fanny Kemble Johnson. 



BEATI MUNDO CORDE 

God's Angel passing o'er the world 
Saw one sweet poem well begun; 

And took it from this world of gloom 
To finish in an endless sun. 

And though life's song was but half sung, 
We knew that there, beyond the stars, 

The song will finish at God's feet, 
And grandest are the final bars. 

Anonymous. 



io6 



GONE 

Another hand is beckoning us, 

Another call is given; 
And glows once more with angel-steps 

The path which reaches heaven. 

Our young and gentle friend, whose smile 
Made brighter, summer hours, 

Amid the frosts of autumn time, 
Has left us with the flowers. 

No paling of the cheek of bloom 

Forewarned us of decay; 
No shadow, from the Silent Land, 

Fell round our sister's way. 

The light of her young life went down, 

As sinks behind the hill 
The glory of a setting star, — ■ 

Clear, suddenly, and still. 
107 



io8 TRogemarg anD "Rue 

As pure and sweet her fair brow seemed 

Eternal as the sky; 
And Hke the brook's long song, her 
voice, — 

A sound which could not die. 

And half we deemed she needed not 
The changing of her sphere, 

To give to Heaven a Shining One, 
Who walked an angel here. 

The blessing of her quiet life 

Fell on us like the dew; 
And good thoughts, where her footsteps 
pressed. 

Like fairy blossoms grew. 

Sweet promptings unto kindest deeds 

Were in her very look; 
We read her face, as one who reads 

A true and holy book; 

The measure of a blessed hymn, 
To which our hearts could move; 

The breathing of an inward psalm, 
A canticle of love. 



TRosemarg anD TRue 109 

We miss her in the place of prayer, 
And by the hearth-fire's hght; 

We pause beside her door to hear 

Once more, her sweet "Good-night." 

There seems a shadow on the day 
Her smile no longer cheers; 

A dimness on the stars of night, 
Like eyes that look through tears. 

Alone unto our Father's will 
One thought hath reconciled; 

That He whose love exceedeth ours, 
Hath taken home His child. 

Fold her, Oh, Father, in Thine arms, 

And let her henceforth be 
A messenger of love, between 

Our human hearts and Thee. 

Still let her mild rebuking stand 
Between us and the wrong, 

And her dear memory serve to make 
Our faith in goodness, strong. 



no •Roeemarg aiiD "Rue 

And grant, that she, who trembling 
here, 
Distrusted all her powers. 
May welcome to her holier home, 
The well-beloved of ours. 

John G. Whittier. 



BEYOND THE SHADOW 

Hast thou thought of me at night, dear, 
When the snow was on the ground, 

And the cold wind moaning past the 
house 
With its dreary, wailing sound? 

When the rest were gathered gladly 
In the cheerful light of home, 

And smiled, and talked of their happy 
Ufe 
And of happy years to come ; 

While the storm beat on the window, 
And its voice was hoarse and loud. 
Did thy thoughts go away from the 
smiling friends 
To visit the friend in her shroud? 
I II 



112 •Rosemary anO IRue 

To one who lay out in the storm, there, 
Though the snow was on the hill, 

And the rain beat wild on the grave- 
yard, 
And her bed was low and chill ? 

She, too, had sat in the firelight. 
And smiled with a tender grace ; 

Now, let her lie still, in her churchyard 
chill. 
With the snow about her face. 

When they sang sweet songs to thee, 
dear. 

Those friends in the cheerful light. 
Hast thou thought of the dreary voices 

That murmur across my night ? 

The voice of the night- wind wailing, 
The voice of the wild bird's cry, 

The sound of the dead leaves falling 
Where the dead around me lie. 

Thou hast thought of me at night, dear, 
When the snow was on the hill, 



IRosemarij anO IRue 113 

And the firelight danced upon thy face, 
Though the snow on mine lay chill. 

I have thought of thee at night, dear. 
Even as thou hast thought of me; 

I come to the quiet haven, — ■ 
Thou — out on the wintry sea. 

I have thought of thee at night, dear, 
When the night on earth went down, 

And thou wert out in the cold, dear. 
And I in the Father's home. 

I, in the quiet city. 

Where the sun shines evermore. 
Thou, out in the night, with the fading 
Hght, 

And thy face away from the door. 

I have thought of thee at night, dear. 
When the angels stood by me. 

And the house was filled with the victor- 
song 
And the sound of the crystal sea ; 



114 IRoacmarB aiiD "Rue 

For I knew that the songs of sorrow 
Were the nearest unto thee, 

And the sound of the dreary river 
Which flows in the dark to the sea. 

We used to talk of the glory, 
When I, too, stood outside; 

Now I see the King in His beauty, 
In the far off land abide. 

But half of all His glory 

Had never been told to me, 

Nor the joy of the joyous city 
Which stands by the crystal sea. 

I have spoken to him at night, dear. 
When I sat, low down at His feet. 

And the light of His overcoming smile 
Shone on till it seemed too sweet — 

Too sweet for one so worthless ; 

And I felt it set me free. 
And free to think of thee, dear, 

For He hath done all for me. 



'Rogemarij anD IRue us 

When the earth- wind sounded dreary, 

Far away outside the gate, 
I have said, " It bloweth chill on her; 

Will she not be home till late?" 

The sun was on the city, 

The sun was on the street, 
And the light of His smile shone on 
awhile, 

And His answer sounded sweet; 

He spake in the speech of heaven. 
Which I may not tell to thee. 

Save this, " I have rest and peace for all 
Who seek for rest in Me." 

So He thinks of thee at night, dear, 
When the cold night falls on thee, 

\nd His voice goes down, through storm 
and sun, 
"There is rest, dear one, with Me." 

And He' 11 think of thee at night, dear, 
When the last night cometh down. 



ii6 1R06cmari5 anO IRue 

And the cold dew falleth, gleaming 
In the last gleam of the sun ; 

When the death- wind from the valley 
Moaneth through the forests dim, 

We will think of thee at night, dear. 
And thou shalt think of Him. 

B. M. 



WOULD I? 

If I could call him back to my empty 

arms and breast 
And press his cherub head to its wonted 

place of rest, 
If I could bid his eyes yet their frozen 

lids unseal 
And for light their mystic fires that 

my dead heart might feel, 
Would I? 

If I could kiss those lips into life and 
warmth once more 

And feel their answering thrill as in pre- 
cious days of yore, 

If I could wake the voice in the little 
form all still, 

117 



ii8 IRosemars anD IRuc 

To feed my starving soul, and with joy 
my bosom fill, 

Would I? 



If, with his restful hands I could share 

the pulsing life 
That courses fast through mine, to the 

bitter toil and strife 
Which rise and frown around increasing 

with our years. 
As worn and faint we pass through this 

woeful vale of tears, 

Would I? 

If I could bid his feet, that have early 

sought repose, 
Arise and walk anew this troublous path 

of woes. 
If I could have him tread yet on thistle 

and on thorn, 
That mark our weary steps through 

these years that creep forlorn, 
Would I? 



IRosemar^ aiiD IRuc ug 

If I could call him back from realms of 

perfect light 
To bear the cross of life in this slough 

of sorrow's night, 
I I could ease my grief by his secrifice 

of bliss, 
And give his bosom joys of a changeful 

world like this, 

Would I? 

If I could go, unstained and as pure as 

he hath flown 
To everlasting founts that can alone 

calm sorrow's moan, 
If 1 could climb the cloud on angel's 

wings above 
And find my jewel set in the crown of 

perfect Love, 

Would I? 

Walter Clyde. 



SUNSHINE AND SHADOW 

He came — the day was dull and dead, 

The skies were cold and gray ; 
The slanting rain beat on the pane, 

And blurred the tossing bay. 
But oh, so dear the tender tone, 

His smile so sweet to see. 
That in my heart the sunlight shone, 

And all was fair to me. 

He's gone — the day is fresh and fair, 

The skies are warm and bright, 
The robin sings; the blithe bee wings 

O'er fragrant fields his flight. 
But blurred and dim through tearful eyes 

The sunlit bay I see; 
For on my heart a shadow lies, 

And all is dark to me. 

" The Manhattan" for August. 
1 20 



WOULD YE BRING THEM BACK? 

Gone to the land of life and light, 

Those whom we loved this fatal year, 
Risen to mansions fair and bright, 
Dwelling in God's eternal sight. 

Those whom we held so dear — so dear! 

What have they left us? Memories deep. 

Memories holy, and tender, and true. 
Yea, were death an endless sleep 
These would not slumber, these would 
keep 

Safe from decay the forms we knew. 

Deathless, in God's diviner sphere, 
Rapt, and serene, our loved ones 

dwell: 
Complete in the bliss they prayed for 

here, 

121 



122 IRoecmnv^ an& TRue 

Perfect in love, in vision clear, 
Who of their sacred joy can tell? 

Wisdom and truth and peace are theirs ; 

Knowledge that deepens each pass- 
ing hour, 
Fruition to faith, and answers to prayers, 
No conflict of soul, no weary cares 

In that high life of immortal power. 

Shall we demand their return again, 
Dear as they were, to the strife 
once more? 
Call them back to the grief and the pain, 
Back to the toil, the fret, the stain, 
Back to the world, from that beautiful 
shore ? 

No. With the blessed let them be. 
Safe, and saved in the Saviour's smile, 

Bending to Him the adoring knee; 

Singing to us from the crystal sea, 
"Here with us in a little while." 

E. B. Russell. 



GONE BEFORE 

Gone, gone, — ^but gone before. 

Silent thy name 
Upon the lips where once 

Its music came. 

Now the sweet cadence falls 

On heavenly air, 
Angels are sounding those 

Syllables fair. 

Gone, gone, — but gone before. 

No tears can rise, 
To dim the light of those 

Immortal eyes. 

Nevermore cloud can pass, 

Or stain endure, 
Upon thy soul redeemed, 

Perfect and pure. 
123 



124 IRoecmar^ an& IRue 

High amid star-like saints 

Radiant and calm, 
Girded with golden harp, 

Bearing green palm, 

Bend from the battlements 

Thy shining brow; 
O thou beloved one 

Watch for me now. 

Almost I see thee, thou 

Seemest so high, 
When I look trustfully, 

Up to God's sky. 

To the pale tender blue 

Rippled all o'er, 
With the ribbed cloudlets, like 

Sands on a shore. 

Oh, could I drive my bark 

In on that tide. 
Leap on the golden sands, 

Spring to thy side! 



■Rosemary ant> IRue 125 

They who are one in Christ, 

Hid in His heart, 
Death can not sever, nor 

Hold long apart. 

Soon they clasp hands again, 

All partings o'er, 
Where the Life-Giver has 

Gone on before. 

Caroline M. Noel. 



GONE HOME 

Gone home! Gone home! She lingers 

here no longer 

A restless pilgrim, walking painfully, 

With homesick longing, daily growing 

stronger, 

And yearning visions of the joys to 
be. 

Gone home! Gone home! Her earnest 
active spirit, 
Her very playfulness, her heart of 
love. 
The heavenly mansion she doth now 
inherit, 
Which Christ made ready ere she 
went above. 

Gone home! Gone home! The door 
through which she vanished 
126 



IRosemars anD TRue 127 

Closed with a jar and left us here, 
alone ; 
We stand without, in tears and banished, 
Longing to follow where one loved 
has gone. 

Gone home! Gone home! Oh, shall we 
ever reach her, 
See her again, and know her for our 
own? 
Will she conduct us to the heavenly 
Teacher, 
And bow beside us, low before His 
throne ? 

Gone home! Gone home! Oh, human- 
hearted Saviour 
Give us a balm to soothe our heavy 
woe; 
And, if thou wilt, in tender, pitying 
favor, 
Hasten the time when we may rise, 
and go. 

The Changed Cross. 



SOME DAY, SOMEHOW 

"Some day, somehow,' ' the hour is dead 

When I looked into loving eyes 
And kissed the whispering lips that said 

These words to me. And if the ties 
Then made are broken; if the breast 

Then warm with life is pulseless now, 
I still will think that God knows best, 

And that we'll meet some day, some- 
how. 

Until that time I still will know 
That, whereso'er in heavenly care 

That pure and radiant soul may go, 
My thoughts will follow. Everywhere 

I'll hear that voice, so low and sweet. 
Just as I seem to hear it now; 

r 11 hear the fall of fairy feet, 
128 



IRosemarg aiiD IRue 129 

r 11 hear the words, " some day, some- 
how." 

Upon the mantelpiece I see 

The picture of a fair sweet face, 
And though the Hps are sealed to me, 

They speak with more than tender 
grace. 
I question not the mystic spell; 

But hark! how clear the accents now. 
'T is not the language of farewell ; 

'Tis trusting love's "some day, some- 
how." 

And so I fondly hope 'twill be, 

Not now, but sometime; after life 
Is finished and eternity 

Dawns on the soul. The toil and 
strife 
Of time once ended, then comes rest, 

Such as we do not dream of now ; 
And then will come to me the best 

Of all, my love, "someday, somehow." 
Minneapolis Journal, 



C: A. M. 

" All in the wild March morning I heard the 
angels call." — Tennyson. 

She heard the angels call and lo! 

The ties of earth were broken: 
To us remains a lasting woe, 

Unspeakable, unspoken. 
To us remains a treasured grief, 

A long, a sacred sadness; 
To her comes infinite relief, 

A sweet eternal gladness. 
Oh, Earth, lie lightly on her form, 

So graceful and so slender. 
Oh, Summer wind. Oh, Winter storm, 

Chant ye, her requiem tender. 
Oh, stars above her lonely grave. 

Keep vigil ye, unfailing; 
Oh, River, sob with every wave, 

Bewailing, and bewailing. 
For kin to all things bright and fair, 

Her regnant beauty made her, 
130 



IRosemar^ auD TRue 131 

And Nature with unwonted care 

Will watch where they have laid her. 
The birds about the spot will sing 

In early summer mornings, 
And "dry-voiced insect" voices ring 

In sad Autumnal warnings. 
And there the sun will softly shine, 

And flowers their perfumes render, 
And there will fall at even time. 

The day's departing splendor; 
And there shall we some comfort find. 

And learn that love supernal 
Has made our human love, though blind, 

The germ of life eternal. 



CROWNED. 

Her course fulfilled, she " fell asleep," 
Hushed into slumber sweet and deep. 

Oh, rest well earned 

By her, who turned 
To make her home beneath the Cross, 
Counting self-chosen ease at loss. 



132 1Ro0cmari5 anD IRue 

Fair story of a steadfast life, 

Led in the shade apart from strife. 

Heart calm and pure, 

That would endure 
God's perfect will unto the end, 
Knowing the glory to which sorrows 

tend. 
Where is she now ? Not where the breeze 
Murmurs among the sheltering trees, 

And shadows pass 

Over the grass, 
And sea-scents, brought from distant 

waves, 
Are floating o'er the quiet graves. 

She is on high ; — her eyes have seen 
The King who had her Saviour been. 

Oh, life fulfilled. 

In rapture stilled. 
Of Him who led her by the road 
Of suffering, to be crowned of God. 

Caroline M. Noel. 



AT TWILIGHT 

Was it so long ? It seemed so brief a 
while 
Since this still hour between the da}^ 
and the dark 
Was lightened by a little fellow's smile; 

Since we were wont to mark 
The sunset's crimson turn to gold, to 
gray, 
Content to know that though he loved 
to roam 
Care-free among the comrades of his play, 
Twilight would lead him home. 

A year ago. The well-remembered hail 
Of happy-hearted children on the 
green 
We hear to-night, and see the sunset 
pale, 

133 



134 IRosemar^ anD IRue 

The distant hills between; 
But when the busy feet shall homeward 
turn, 
When little wearied heads shall seek 
for rest, 
Where shall you find the weight for 
which you yearn 
Ah, tender mother-breast? 

Dear lips that in the twilight hushed and 
dim 
Lulled him with murmured fantasies 
of song ; 
Dear slender arms, that safely sheltered 
him. 
The empty years are long. 
The night's caressing wind moves bab- 
bling on, 
And all the whispered gossip of the firs 
Is busy with his name who now is gone — 
My little lad, and hers. 

But if we so, with eager eyes and glad, 
Looked forward to his coming in the 
gloom ; 



tRoeemarg aiiD IRue 135 

If so our hearts leaped out to meet the 
lad 
Whose smile lit all the room, — 
Shall there not be a Presence waiting 
thus 
To still the bitter craving of the quest ? 
Shall there not be a welcome, too, for us 
When we go home to rest? 

Yes, God be thanked for this: the ashen- 
gowned 

Sweet presence of the twilight, and, 
afar, 
The strong enduring hills, in beauty 
crowned 
With one white steadfast star. 
A year ago? What, love to us are years? 
The selfsame twilight, cool and calm 
and dim, 
That led him home to us despite our 
fears, 
Shall lead us home to him. 

Guy Wetmore Carryl 



THE BROKEN FLOWER 

" He shall carry the lambs in His bosom." 
— Isa. xi, II. 

Oh, bind her hair with roses, 

Wreathe clusters o'er that brow; 
The sleep where death reposes, 

Has mantled o'er its snow; 
And joy, and pride, and sorrow, 

Have died from out those eyes, 
Which gaze on Life's to-morrow, 

And see in Paradise. 

The things we dare not fathom, 

The thoughts we may not know, 
In all their perfect beauty 

Our darling knoweth now. 
No dream of sorrow darkling 

May cloud the eye of faith, 
For shade is lost in lustre. 

And life begins in death. 
136 



IRoeemart? an& IRue 137 

Her hands are meekly folded 

Across her gentle breast, 
Her fingers twined forever 

For one unbroken rest. 
And in a dreamless slumber, 

With marbled brow and chill, 
She lieth, veiled in silence, 

And passionless, and still. 

The white rose nestles softly 

Beside that cold, cold cheek. 
Which lieth pale and changeless. 

So wan, and pure, and meek. 
The myrtle's spray is peeping 

From out that golden hair. 
But ah, the fairest floweret 

Lies crushed and broken there. 

A flower amid the flowerets, 

A pale and broken flower. 
Now sown in tearful weakness, 

Then raised in wondrous power; 
Though these shall fade and wither, 

Like rosebuds on the pall. 



138 TRogemari^ an& IRuc 

She hears the "come up hither" 
And blooms beyond them all. 

A lovely star has fallen 

From our terrestial sky, 
And with a blaze of beauty 

Has swept its glory by. 
But oh, it gleameth brighter. 

With purer, clearer glow, 
Amid the shining circlet, 

That binds the thorn-crowned Brow. 

Anonymous. 



REST IN THE GRAVE 

"Rest in the grave." But rest is for 
the weary, 
And his sHght Umbs were hardly girt 
for toil. 
Rest is for lives worn out, deserted, 
dreary, 
Which have no brightness left for 
death to spoil. 

We yearn for rest when power and pas- 
sion wasted 
Have left to memory nothing but re- 
gret; 
He sleeps, while life's best pleasures, all 
untasted, 
Had scarce approached his rosy lips 
as yet. 

139 



I40 TRosemarg aiiD TRue 

His childlike eyes held all their craving 
sweetness, 
His form was ripening to more per- 
fect grace, 
He died with the pathetic incomplete- 
ness 
Of Beauty's promise on his pallid face. 

What undeveloped gifts, what powers 
untasted, 
Perchance, with him have passed 
away from earth : 
What germs of thought, in that young 
brain arrested. 
May never grow, and quicken, and 
have birth. 

We drink the sweets of life, and drink 

the bitter, 
And Death, to us, would almost seem 

a boon; 
But why to him, for whom glad Life 

were fitter. 
Should darkness come, ere day had 

reached its noon ? 



TRoeemats anJ) 1Rue 141 

No answer, save the echo of our weeping 

Which from the woodland and the 

moor is heard 

Where, in the spring-time, ruthless 

storm winds sweeping 

Have slain the unblown flower, and 

unfledged bird. 

Anonymous. 



THE CHILD ETERNAL 

I HEARD their prayers, and kissed their 
sleepy eyes, 
And tucked them in all warm from 
feet to head, 
To wake again with morning's glad sun- 
rise, — ■ 
Then came where he lay dead. 
On cold still mouth I laid my lips. 
Asleep he lay, to wake the other side 
God's door. 
My other children, mine to love and keep 
But this one, mine no more. 

Those other children, long to men have 
grown, — 
Strange, hurried men, who give me 
passing thought, 
142 



•Rosemarij anD IRue 143 

Then go their ways. No longer now 
my own, 
Without me they have wrought. 
So, when night comes, and, seeking 
mothers' knee, 
Tired childish feet turn home at even- 
tide, 
I fold him close, — the child that's left to 
me. 
My little lad who died. 

Irene Fowler Brown. 



AN ANNIVERSARY 

This was thy heavenly birthday much 
loved boy 
Dost thou not wonder at thy parents' 

tears 
And question why so sad that day 
appears, 
Which crowned their darling with un- 
fading joy? 
Why do they now their mournful 
thoughts employ 
In fondly dwelling on thy few short 

years? 
For Memory, while she thus the past 
endears, 
Blends with the sweet her bitterest 
alloy. 
Oh, if a birthday of a life like ours, 
144 



•Rosemary anD TRue 145 

In this dark world of trouble and 
unrest, 
Be hailed with gratulations, gifts, and 
flowers. 
Should not thine entrance on a life so 
blest 
E'en as a sacred jubilee be kept, 
And not a tear, but tears of joy be 
wept? 

Charlotte ELLiot. 



EPITAPH 

The lamb is gathered into that blest 
fold 
Where dangers cannot enter, nor 

alarms, 
Led by her Shepherd carried in His 
arms, 
She passed through earth, scarce tarry- 
ing to behold 
The waters still, which near her gently 
rolled, 
Or the green pastures decked with 

flowery charms ; 
But though we thought her sheltered 
from all harms, 
This damp, terrestrial climate proved 
too cold. 
Her Shepherd watched her drooping, 
and meanwhile 
146 



IRosemar^ an& IRue 147 

The everlasting arms were underneath; 

Cheered by His voice, encouraged by 

His smile, 

She reached the dark unfathomed gulf 

of death; 

He hushed its waves — then to His fold 

above 
Wafted safe o'er the object of His love. 

Anonymous. 



DEAD 

Why should we kiss thy cold dead lips 
And mourn that thou hast left our 
sight. 

Are not our souls still in eclipse 

While thine hath found the light? 

I think this is the reason why 

We weep not that we wish thee here, 
Because to souls with earth laid by, 

Earth's problems are made clear. 



148 Koeemari? an& IRue 

But that our hearts yearn longingly 
To go away with thee to-night 

Out of this old world's mystery 
Into a new world's light. 

B . E . W. 



MEMORIES 

She is laid in the earth, but her bright 

spirit soars 
To the regions of bliss, from these 

sorrowful shores. 
She moved in her beauty, an angel while 

here, 
And I saw she was formed for a happier 

sphere. 

O, sad are the sighs for my darling I 
heave. 

And sad are my tears, though 'tis fruit- 
less to grieve. 

Yet oft, through the dark mists of 
sorrow I see, 

In fancy, my darling still smiling on me. 



IRosemarg anD "Rue 149 

Wherever I go there 's no object I trace, 
Can turn from my mind her loved form, 

or her face; 
Nor time can my soul in forgetfulness 

steep ; 
Her dream-wafted image still smiles 

o'er my sleep. 

In nights calm and clear, 'mid bright 

orbs I try 
To trace her blest home in the beautiful 

sky; 
And I gaze on some stars, till in fancy 

I see 
Her far-shining spirit, still smiling on me 

Anonymous. 



REMEMBER 

Remember me when I am gone away, 
Gone far away into the silent land; 
When you can no more hold me by 
the hand, 
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay. 
Remember me when no more day by day 
You tell me of our future that you 

planned. 
Only remember me — you understand. 

Yet if you should forget me for a while, 
And afterwards remember, do not grieve; 
Better by far you should forget and 

smile. 
Than to remember, and be sad. 

Christina Rossetti. 



150 



A DEATH-BED 

The room was full of angels 
And she wondered we could not see, 
That we could not see their shining wings 
As they floated noiselessly 

Around her bed? 

The room was full of music, 
Beautiful music she said, 
And she wondered we could not hear 
How the holy strains were stealing, 
How the happy songs were pealing 
All through the hush and gloom 

Of the silent room. 

And just before the dawning 
When the darkness of night was o'er. 
And the night of her suffering life 
Was ended forevermore 
In the grey of Ascension mom 
151 



152 IRoscmari? an& IRue 

The angels came again, 

And tenderly they bore her 

For whom they had waited long. 

Watched and waited in heaven, 

Knowing that even here 

She was learning their blessed song. 

So in the grey of the morning 

They bore her soul away 

Beyond the prison bars. 

Beyond the fading stars, 

To the brightness of the day. 

M. E. WiNSLOW. 



WATCHING 

He watched her breathing through the 
night, 

Her breathing soft and low, 
As in her breast the wave of hfe 

Kept heaving to and fro. 

So silently we seemed to speak, 

So slowly moved about, 
As we had lent her half our powers 

To eke her living out. 

Our very hopes belied our fears. 

Our fears our hopes belied. 
We thought her dying when she slept, 

And sleeping when she died. 

For when the morn came dim, and sad, 

And chill with early showers, 
Her quiet eyelids closed, — she had 
Another mom than ours. 

Thomas Hood. 
153 



A SONG AND A PRAYER 

A SONG for the girl we love, — 

God love her. 
A song for the eyes, with their tender 

wile, 
And the fragrant mouth with its melting 

smile, 
The rich brown tresses, uncontrolled. 
That clasp her neck with their tenderest 

hold, 
And the blossom lips, and the dainty 

chin, 
And the lily hand, that we try to win, — 
The girl that we love, — ■ 
God love her. 

A prayer for the girl we loved, — 

God loved her. 

A prayer for the eyes of the faded light 

154 



•Rosemaris an& IRiie 155 

And the cheek whose red rose waned to 

white; 
And the quiet brow, with its shadow 

and gleam, 
And the lashes drooped in a long deep 

dream, 
And the small hands crossed, for the 

church-yard rest, 
And the roses dead, on her sweet dead 
breast, — • 
The girl that we loved, — • 
God loved her. 
Frederick Langbridge. 



GONE AWAY 

I WILL not ithink of thee as cold and 
dead 
Low lying in the grave that I can see ; 
I would not stand beside when life had 
fled 
And left thy body only, there for me. 
I never saw thee with thy pale arms 

crossed, 
Or that unbeating heart that was mine 

own, 
They only told me all that I had lost 
When from thy breast thy lovely soul 
had flown. 

Thou wert not that, — -and so I turned 
away 
And left the house when other mourn 
ers stayed 



IRosemari? anO TRuc 157 

Nor did I come on that unhappy day, 
When in the tomb that dreadful 
thing was laid. 
To me thou art not dead, — but gone an. 
hour 
Into another country fair and sweet, 
Where thou shalt, by some undiscovered 
power, 
Be kept in youth and beauty till we 
meet. 

Thus I can feel that at some given day 
I could rejoin thee, — gone awhile be- 
fore 
To foreign climes to pass dull weeks 
away. 
By wandering on the broad Atlantic 
shore, 
Where each long wave that breaks upon 
the sand 
Bears thee a message from me waiting 
here, 
And every breath Spring breathes across 
the land 



158 IRosemari? aiiD "Rue 

Seems as a sign that thou art Ungering 
near. 

So I will think of thee, as living there, 

And I will keep thy grave in sweetest 

bloom, 

As if thou gav'st a garden to my care, 

Ere thou departed from our English 

gloom. 

Then when my day is done, and I, too, 

die, 

'T will be as if I journeyed to thy side, 

And when all quiet we together lie, 

We shall not know that we have ever 

died. 

Anonymous. 



ALONE 

Since she went home 
The evening shadows linger here, 
The winter days fill so much of the year, 
And even summer winds are chill and 
drear, 

Since she went home. 

Since she went home 

The robin's note has struck a minor 

strain, 
The old glad songs breathe but a sad 

refrain, 
And laughter sobs with hidden bitter 

pain 

Since she went home. 

Since she went home 

How still the empty rooms her presence 

blest. 

159 



i6o TRoecman? aiiD IRue 

Untouched the pillow that her dear 

head pressed, 
My lonely heart hath nowhere for its 

rest 

Since she went home, 

vSince she went home 

The long, long days have crept away 

like years. 
The sunlight has been dimmed with 

doubts and fears. 
And the long nights have rained in 
lonely tears, 

Since she went home. 

Anonymous. 



UNDER THE VIOLETS 

Her hands are cold; her face is white; 
No more her pulses come and go ; 

Her eyes are shut to life and light; 

Fold the light vesture, snow on snow, 
And lay her where the violets blow. 

But not beneath a graven stone, 
To plead for tears with alien eyes; 

A slender cross of wood alone 

Shall say that here a maiden lies 

In peace, beneath the peaceful skies. 

And gray old trees, of hugest limb 

Shall wheel their circling shadows 
round 
To make the scorching sunlight dim, 
That drinks the greenness from the 
ground. 

11 i6i 



i62 IRoecmare aiiD TRue 

And drop their dead leaves on the 
mound. 

When o'er their boughs the squirrels run, 
And through their leaves the robins 
call, 

And, ripening in the autumn sun, 
The acorns and the chestnuts fall. 
Doubt not that she will heed them all. 

For her the morning choir shall sing 
Its matins from the branches high; 

And every minstrel voice of spring 
That thrills beneath the April sky 
Shall greet her with its earliest cry. 

When turning round their dial-track, 
Eastward the lengthening shadows 
pass. 
Her little mourners, clad in black, — 
The crickets, — sliding through the 

grass, 
Shall pipe for her, an evening mass. 

At last, the rootlets of the trees 
Shall find the prison where she lies, 



IRosemar^ anD IRue 163 

And bear the buried dust they seize, 
In leaves and blossoms to the skies. 
So may the soul that warmed it, rise. 

If any, bom of kindlier blood 

Should ask, "What maiden lies be- 
low?" 
Say only this: "A tender bud 

That tried to blossom in the snow 
Lies withered where the violets blow. ' * 
Oliver Wendell Holmes. 



PROSPICE 

Fear death? — ^To feel the fog in my 
throat 
The mist in my face, 
When the snows begin and the blasts 
denote 
I am nearing the place, 
The power of the night, the press of the 
storm, 
The post of the foe ; 
Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a 
visible form. 
Yet the strong man must go: 
For the journey is done and the summit 
attained, 
And the barriers fall. 
Though a battle 's to fight ere the guer- 
don be gained, 
The reward of it all. 
164 



IRosemarB anO IRue 165 

I was ever a fighter, so — one fight more, 

The best and the last! 
I would hate that Death bandaged my 
eyes and forbore. 
And bade me creep past. 
No! let me taste the wh of it, fare 
like my peers 
The heroes of old, 
Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad 
Life's arrears 
Of pain, darkness, and cold. 
For sudden the worst turns the best to 
the brave. 
The black minute 's at end. 
And the elements' rage, the fiend- voices 
that rave. 
Shall dwindle, shall blend, 
Shall change, shall become first a peace 
out of pain. 
Then a light, then thy breast, 
O thou soul of my soul I shall clasp thee 
again. 
And with God be the rest] 

Robert Browning. 



FROM "THELADYOFGARAYE," 

''Servant of God, well done! They serve 

God best who serve His creatures. 
When the funeral bell tolls for the dead 

there's nothing left of all that decks 

the scutcheon and the funeral pall 
Save this. 

The coronet is empty show; the 

strength and loveliness are hid 

below ; 
The shifting wealth to others hath 

accrued; and learning cheers not 

the grave's solitude. 
What 's done is what remains. Ah, happy 

they who leave completed tasks of 

love to stay 
And answer mutely for them, being dead, 

' Life was not purposeless, tho' life 

be fled.' " 

Mrs. Norton. 

i66 



LINKS WITH HEAVEN 

Our God in heaven, from that holy 
place, 
To each of us an angel guide has given ; 
But mothers of dead children have 
more grace, i 

For they give angels to their God in 
heaven. 

How can a mother's heart feel cold or 
weary, 
I Knowing her dearer self, — safe, shel- 
tered, warm? 
How can she feel her road too dark or 
dreary. 
Who knows her treasure sheltered 
from the storm? 
167 



i68 lRo0cmari? an& IRue 

How can she sin? Our hearts may be 
unheeding, 
Our God forgot, our holy saints defied. 
But can a mother hear her dead child 
pleading, 
And thrust those little angel hands 
aside ? 

Those little hands stretched down to 
draw her ever 
Nearer to God, by mother-love; we 
all 
Are blind and weak, but surely she can 
never. 
With such a stake in heaven, fail or 
fall. 

She knows that when the mighty angels 
raise 

Chorus in heaven, one little silver tone 
Is hers forever, that one little praise. 

One happy little voice, is all her own. 

Ah, saints in heaven may pray with 
earnest will. 



IRosemar^ an& IRue 169 

And pity, for their weak and erring 

brothers, 
Yet there is prayer in heaven, more 

tender still: 

The little children pleading for their 

mothers. 

Anonymous. 



HOLY INNOCENTS 

They scarcely waked before they slept, 
They scarcely wept before they 

laughed, 
They drank indeed, death's bitterest 
draught ; 
But all its bitterest dregs were kept 
And drained by mothers while they wept. 



I70 "Roscmari? anD "Rue 

From heaven the speechless infants 
speak ; 
"Weep not" (they say), our mothers 

dear, 
For swords, nor sorrows come not here ; 
Now we are strong, who were so weak, 
And all is ours we could not seek. 

We bloom among the blooming flowers, 

We sing among the singing birds ; 

Wisdom we have, who wanted words; 

Here, morning knows not evening hours, 

All 's rainbow here, without the showers. 

And softer than our mother's breast, 
And closer than our mother's arm, 
Is here the Love that keeps us warm 

And broods above our happy nest; 

Dear mothers, come, for heaven is best.*' 
Christina Rossetti. 



MOTHER-QUESTIONS 

I CHARGE you, O bright angels of the 

skies, 
Seeing I am not either strong, or wise, 
But only a sad mother, strangely lone, 
And spent with weeping for dear 
children gone. 
List to these yearning questions: "How 

they fare? 
Who guides their feet upon the golden 
stair? 
Who leads ail-tenderly each little 

hand? 
Who lifts them for caress, in that far 
land? 
Soothes with soft music, calls them buds 

and flowers, 
With loving smile and song beguiles the 
hours? 

171 



172 IRosemar^ anD IRue 

And have they missed me?" Ne'er 

do I forget. 
These eyes are oft with grieving tear- 
drops wet. 
So sad, so silent is the nursery floor, 
No little "patter, patter," evermore; 
Nor any lispings heard of baby speech, 
Nor loving kisses mother-love to 
reach ; 
I only have green graves, and still, cold 

clay. 
Where are my darlings, O ye angels say? 



ANGELIC ANSWERS 

Safe, happy, blessed, evermor^. 

Be comforted, mother, nor grieve 
more. 
Each httle cross-set brow 
Weareth a star-crown now; 

Ever 'mid fadeless flowers 

Pass they the blissful hours; 
Often on Jesus' breast 
Find they their loving rest; 

Often before His feet. 

Scatter their garlands sweet ; 

" Following the Lamb " they go, 
Nor sorrow ever know. 

O faithless, to suppose 
One plucks a budding rose, 
Deems it a moment sweet, 
173 



174 TRosemarg anO IRuc 

Then drops it 'neath the feet. 
Mortals may fickle prove, 
Not such thy Saviour's love. 

Nay, having gathered thine 

Up to His arms divine, 
CChild-love cannot divide) 
Thy babes are satisfied. 

Seeing that mothers are for blessed using, 

Care, and caresses, — harm, and ill re- 
fusing. 

Plainly thy babes have better shelter 
now 

Than thou couldst give in this poor world 
below. 

But take an angel's word, — Thou 'rt not 
forgot. 

Anonymous. 



MOTHER-LOVE 

Ye were mine, flesh and soul mine, O 
my children ; 
A portion of myself is torn away. 
The breath of life seems stifled in our 
parting, 
And death-like darkness clouds my 
lonely way. 
A chill, sick shudder thrills my yearning 
bosom, 
Where nevermore your gentle arms 
shall twine. 
The memory of your voices doubles 
anguish, 
Your voices, that no longer answer 
mine. 
Yet cease my soul, O hush this vain 
lamenting, 

175 



176 IRosemare auD IRuc 

Earth's anguish will not alter Heaven's 
decree ; 
In that calm world whose peopling is of 
angels, 
Those I called mine still live and 
wait for me. 
They cannot re-descend where I lament 
them, 
My earth-bound grief no sorrowing 
angel shares, 
And in their peaceful, but immortal 
dwelling, 
Nothing of me can enter, but my 
prayers. 

If this be so, then, that I may be near 
them, 
Let me still pray, unmunnuring, night 
and day. 
God lifts us gently to the world of glory 
Even by the love we feel for things of 
clay. 
Lest in our wayward hearts we should 
forget Him, 



TRosemare aiiD IRue 177 

And forfeit so, the mansion of our rest, 
He leads our dear ones forth, and bids 
us seek them 
In a far distant home among the blest. 
So we have guides to Heaven's eternal 
city, 
And when our wandering feet would 
backward stray, 
The faces of our dead arise in brightness, 
And fondly beckon to the holier way. 
Tho' mother-love for use is needed not. 

Would 'st have thy nestlings fill thine 
arms again? 

Yield to a better way to ease thy pain. 

Out in earth's desert, 'mid the weed and 
thorn, 

Are wailing babes, unsheltered and for- 
lorn; 

Up from thy vacant chamber ! Ope the 
door. 

Let stranger babes pass in upon the floor. 

Haste to the shelf, delay not, nor refuse 

The hoarded robes thy children ne'er 
will use; 



178 IRo&cmar^ and l^ue 

With holy song beguile their tears away, 
Dispel thine own, in infant mirth and 

play ; 
Be thou their angel in a paradise. 
Such mother-love divine, — divine its 
price. 

Mrs. E. B. Browning. 



THE SHEPHERD CALLS 

I KNOW in grief like thine, 

How more than vain, 
All comfort to the 

Stricken heart appears, 
And, as the bursting cloud 

Must spend its rain, 

So grief its tears. 

I know, that when 

Thy httle darhng's form 
Had freed the living spirit 

Fettered there, 
You could not pierce 

Beyond the breaking storm 

In your despair. 

You only knew 

Those precious eyes were dim 
You only felt 

179 



iSo IRoscmarg aiiD IRiie 

Those tiny lips were cold, 
You only clung 

To what remained of him 
Beneath the mould. 

You could not see 

The tender hand that caught 
Your little lamb 

In all its witching charms, 
You missed him 

From your own, but never thought 

Of Jesus' arms. 

But, young mother 

Look, the gate unbars. 
And through the darkness 

SmiUng, from the skies, 
All beaming on you 

Brighter than the stars, 

Your darling's eyes. 

'T is said that when the pastures 
Down among the Alpine vales 
Have ceased to feed the flock, 



IRosemars anO TRue i8i 

And they must mount 
Where yet the grass is young 

Far up the rock, 
The shepherd takes a Httle lamb 
At play, and lifts him gently 

To his careful breast, 
And with its tender bleating 

Leads the way for all the rest, 
That quick the mother 

Follows in the path, 
Then others go, like men 

Of faith, and hopes. 
And soon the shepherd 

Gathers all he hath, 

High, on the slopes. 
And on those 
Everlasting Hills he feeds 
The trusting fold, 

In green that never palls. 

Look up! Oh! See, 
Your little darling leads, 
The Shepherd calls. 

L. C. MOULTON. 



MATER DOLOROSA 

Because of little low-laid heads, all 
crowned 

With golden hair, 
Forevermore all fair young brows to me 

A halo wear: 
I kiss them rev' rently, — alas, I know 

The stains I bear. 

Because of dear but close-shut holy eyes 
Of heaven's own blue, 

All little eyes do fill my own with tears, 
Whate'er their hue; 

And motherly I gaze their innocent 
Clear depths into. 

Because of little pallid lips which once 
My name did call, 

182 



IRoscmarg aiiD TRue 183 

No childish voice in vain appeal, upon 

My ear doth fall. 
I count it all my joy their joys to share 

And sorrows small. 

Because of little dimpled cherished hands 

Which folded lie, 
All little hands henceforth to me do have 

A pleading cry; 
I clasp them as they were small wander- 
ing birds 

Lured home to fly. 

Because of little death-cold feet, for 
earth's 

Rough roads unmeet, 
I 'd journey leagues to save from sin or 
harm 

Such little feet; 
And count the lowliest service done for 
them 

So sacred sweet. 

Mary K. Field. 



A LITTLE GRAVE 

Softly, tread softly. A baby's asleep 
Under the daisies and grass; 
Over his bosom the violets creep, 
Ah, but his slumber is tender and deep, 
Watched by the Father that loveth His 

own. 
Dear little baby, sleep sweetly to-day, — 
Rest that is sweeter no baby hath known. 

Softly, tread softly, nor wake from his 

sleep 
Under the daisies and grass, 
This little one sleeping with flowers on 

its breast. 
Knowing of quiet the sweetest and best. 
Never the sorrowful secrets of life, 
Never the mystery clinging to death. 
184 



IRosemar^ anO IRuc 185 

For this wee sleeper, — he 's done with 

the strife. 
Grave, guard him closely your blossoms 

beneath. 

Some mother misses this babe from her 

breast 
Under the daisies and grass: 
Often at twilight she hushed it to rest, 
Singing the songs that a baby loves best. 
Ah, but the arms of the mother of all 
Wrappeth the little one close to her 

breast ; 
Kind Mother Earth, when the night 

shadows fall, 
Gather us all to your bosom to rest. 

Anonymous. 



BEST 

Mother, I see you with your nursery 

light 
Leading your babies all in white 

To their sweet rest: 
Christ, the Good Shepherd, carries mine 
to-night, 

And that is best. 

I cannot help tears, when I see them 

twine 
Their fingers in yours, and their bright 
curls shine 

On your warm breast; 
But the Saviour's is purer than yours or 
mine, — ■ 

He can love best. 

i86 



IRoscmari? anO IRue 187 

You tremble each hour because your 

arms 
Are weak, your heart is wrung with 
alarms, 

And sore opprest, 
My darlings are safe, out of reach of 
harms, 

And that is best. 

You know over yourS may hang even 

now 
Pain and disease whose fulfilling, slow, 

Naught can arrest; 
Mine in God's gardens run to and fro, 

And that is best. 

You know that of yours, the feeblest one 
And dearest, may live long years alone, 

Unloved, unblest; 
Mine are cherished of saints around God's 
throne, 

And that is best. 

You must dread for yours, the crime 
that sears. 



i88 TRosemarg anO IRue 

Dark guilt, unwashed by repentant 
tears, 

And unconfessed; 
Mine entered spotless on eternal years, — 

How much the best. 

But grief is selfish, and I cannot see 

Always, why I should so stricken be 

More than the rest; 

But I know that as well for them, as for 

me, 

God did the best. 

H. H. 



BABES ALWAYS 

*T IS late — in my lone chamber, 

Borne through the echoing hall, 
I hear the wind's hoarse sobbing, 

The rain-drops plashing fall; 
And the street-lamp on the ceiling 

Throws many a weird-like form.- 
Tree-shadows dancing wildly 

To the music of the storm. 

Called I my vigil lonely? 

The door is still and fast: 
O'er threshold, and o'er carpet, 

No mortal foot has passed; 
No rustle of white raiment 

Or warm breath stirs the air 
Yet I speak aloud my greeting: 

"My darlings, are you there?" 
189 



iQo IRoscmare auO IRue 

Not the three who by me kneeHng, 

Said "Our Father" hours ago, — 
Whose cheeks now dent their pillows 

Like roses upon snow ; 
They dream not of the graveyard, 

And of the hillocks twain 
Snow-heaped to-night, — (Lord help me,) 

And dripping with the rain. 

Twelve years, — a manly stripling 
Our boy, by this had grown. 

Is it four years, or twenty. 

Since I kissed the eyelids down 

Of her whose baby sweetness 
Was a later gift from God, 

And straightened in the coffin 

Wee feet that never trod? 
These are not strangers' glances 

That eagerly seek mine; 
I know the loving straining. 

Of the arms that round me twine. 
Thou hast kept them babes, O Father. — 

Who not, 'mid heaven's bowers 



TRosemarg anO IRue 191 

Learning the speech of angels, 

Forget this home of ours; — 
Or her who braved Death's anguish 

To win them to her breast; 
If they fled into the sunshine, 

Free birds from narrow nest, 
They come to me when longing 

And pain are at their height, 
To tell me of the safety, the love, and 
the delight 

Of that eternal dwelling, 

(With our name upon the door) 
The ring of baby-voices 

Shall gladden evermore; 
Till 'neath their tender soothing, 

I lift my heart and smile 
And gather faith and courage. 

To bide my "little while." 

Marion Harland 



THE WEEK SHE DIED 

She came and leaned against my tired 
knee 
And questioned me of this, and then 
of that ; 
Asked if the dark was made to hide the 
Hght? 
And if the little stars were round or 
flat? 

I felt I had so many troubling cares 
And worried thoughts, that I could 
not abide 
Her restless motions, and her tireless 
tongue ; 
Ah me, that was the very week she 
died. 

IQ2 



IRosemarg auD TRue 193 

It seems to-night, as silently I sit, 

Nothing would rest me like her lean- 
ing form; 
And if she gaily sprang and clasped my 
neck, 
I should not think her arms too close 
and warm. 



I might have answered her more pa- 
tiently, 
And borne her noisy glee; oh, I have 
cried. 
Thinking of all the things I might have 
done 
That would have made her glad, the 
week she died. 

The snow is cold above her little grave, — 
Above the little feet and dear young 
head ; 
The spring-time sun will warm, and 
bless, — 
Alas, alas ! it cannot reach my dead. 
13 



194 1Ro6cmarg anD IRue 

The birds will come and sing their happy 
notes, 

And grass will green again the valleys 

wide, 
But ne'er can grass and flowers and 

songs, to me 

Seem what they did before that week 

she died. 

Good Housekeeping. 



TIRED MOTHERS 

A LITTLE elbow leans upon your knee, — 
Your tired knee, that has so much to 
bear; 
A child's dear eyes are looking lovingly 
From underneath a thatch of tangled 
hair. 
Perhaps you do not heed the velvet 
touch 
Of warm moist fingers, folding yours 
so tight; 
You do not prize this blessing over- 
much, — 
You almost are too tired to play to- 
night. 

But ' t is a blessedness. A year ago 

I did not see it as I do to-day, — • 
We are so dull and thankless; and too 
slow 
To catch the sunshine till it slips away. 
And now it seems surpassing strange to 
me 
That while I wore the badge of mother- 
hood, 

195 



196 IRosemarg anD IRue 

I did not kiss more oft, and tenderly, 
The little child who brought me only- 
good. 

And if, some night, when you sit down 
to rest, 
You miss this elbow from your tired 
knee, 
This restless curling head from off your 
breast, 
This lisping tongue, that chatters 
constantly, — 
If, from your own, the dimpled hands 
had slipped, 
And ne'er would nestle in your palm 
again, — 
If the white feet into the grave had 
tripped, 
I could not blame you for your heart- 
ache then. 

I wonder so that mothers ever fret 
At little children clinging to their 
gown; 



TRosemarg anO IRue 197 

Or, that the footprints, when the days 
are wet, 
Are ever black enough to make them 
frown. 
If I could find a little muddy boot, 

Or cap, or jacket, on my nursery floor, 
If I could kiss a rosy restless foot. 

And hear its patter in my home once 
more. 

If I could mend a broken cart to-day. 
To-morrow make a kite to reach the 
sky,— 
There is no woman in God's world could 
say 
She was more blissfully content than I. 
But ah, the dainty pillow next my own 
Is never rumpled by a shining head ; 
My singing birdling from its nest is 
flown ; 
The little boy I used to kiss is dead. 
Mrs. Albert H. Smith. 



SAFE 

We must not mourn for thee, my broken 
flower, 
Purer and dearer than earth's fairest 
bloom ; 
Nor weep to think how brief thy fleeting 
hour 
Of hope and joy, — a cradle and a 

tomb. 
Ah, no, for ere one shade of faintest 
gloom 
Had dimmed the light of young love's 

cloudless day. 
The darkness came, our darling passed 
away. 
And we are left to mourn her early 
doom: 
But not with bitter tears, — for far above 

198 



IRosemar^ aiiD IRue 199 

All earthly hopes, around the cross 
had twined 
Her helpless heart, in trustfulness and 
love. 
And now, all sin and sorrow left be- 
hind, 
Safe on her Saviour's breast she waits to 

see 
Her loved ones come — Oh, darling, who 
could weep for thee? 

Emma Toke. 



THOSE LITTLE FEET 

Those little feet that could not walk 
Have climbed the golden stair; 

Those silent lips that could not speak 
Break out in praise and prayer. 

The hands that had such feeble hold 

Now grasp a golden palm; 
The heart that throbbed with suffering 

Is bathed in endless calm. 

The weary head that could not rest 
Is crowned with garlands bright; 

Those eyes, of mystery so full, 
Shine with unclouded light. 

Therefore our Easter morn is glad, 

Because to us was given 
A Holy Innocent, to yield 
Unto the Lord of Heaven. 

Caroline M. Noel. 
200 



DEAR LITTLE HANDS 

Dear little hands, I loved them so. 
And now they are lying under the snow; 

Under the snow, so cold and white, 

I cannot see them or touch them 
to-night. 
They are quiet and still at last ; ah me, 
How busy and restless they used to be! 

But now, they can never reach up 
through the snow; 

Dear little hands, I loved them so. 

Dear little hands, I miss them so 
All through the day, wherever I go — 
All through the night, how lonely it 

seems 
For no little hands to wake me from 
dreams ; 
I miss them all through the weary hours ; 

20I 



202 IRosemarg aiiD IRue 

I miss them as others miss sunshine and 
flowers. 
Day-time or night-time, wherever I 

go, 
Dear Httle hands, I miss them so. 



Dear Httle hands they are gone from me 

now. 
Never again will they rest on my brow, 
Never again smooth my sorrowful face, 
Never clasp me in a childish embrace; 
And now my forehead grows wrinkled 

with care, 
Thinking of little hands once resting 
there. 
But I know in a happier, heav'nlier 

clime. 
Dear little hands, I will clasp you in 
mine. 



Dear little hands, when the Master shall 

call, 
I '11 welcome the summons that comes to 
us all. 



IRoscmars aiiD TRue 203 

When my feet touch the waters so 

dark and so cold, 
And I catch my first glimpse of the 
City of Gold, 
If I keep my eyes fixed on the heavenly 

gate, 
Over the tide where the white-robed 
ones wait. 
Shall I know you, I wonder, among 

the bright bands. 
Will you beckon me over, oh, dear 
little hands? 

Anonymous. 



THE PITCHER OF TEARS 

There went a widow woman from the 

outskirts of the city. 
Whose lonely sorrow might have moved 
the stones she trod to pity. 
She wandered weeping through the 
fields, by God and man forsaken, 
Still calling on the little child the 
Reaper, Death, had taken. 



204 TRogemarij aiiD "Rue 

When lo ! upon a day, she met a white- 
robed train advancing, 
And brightly on their golden heads their 
golden crowns were glancing, 
Child Jesus led a happy band of little 

ones a-Maying — 
With flowers of spring, and gems of 
dew, all innocently playing. 
Far from the rest the widow sees, and 

flies to clasp her treasure! 
"What ails thee darling that thou must 
not take with these thy pleasure ? " 
' 'O mother, little mother mine, be- 
hind the rest I tarry. 
For see, how heavy with your tears, 
the pitcher I must carry! 
If you had ceased to weep for me when 

Jesus went a-Maying, 
I should have been among the blest, 
with little Jesus playing. " 

Emily Pfeiffer. 



ONLY 

Only a little half- worn shoe, — ^nothing 

more, 
Only a ragged broken doll on the floor, 
Only a little empty bed smooth and 

white, 
Only a pair of blue eyes hid from the 

light. 

Only two busy hands, idle now, 

No little voice to ask "Why?" or 

"How?" 
Only a tiny golden curl laid away 
Where only mother's eyes shall look day 
by day. 

Only a little prayer less at twilight, 
Only no little face to kiss every night, 
Only a little name to sob o'er and o'er, 
Only one little form to clasp nevermore. 

205 



2o6 IRoscmarp anD IRiie 

Only a little grave, to tell that she is 

dead, 
Only a little lily set at the head, 
Only a little snowwhite stone with her 

name, 
Dates to tell when she left us, — when she 

came. 

Only a memory, vanished quite from 

the earth. 
Save the memory in heart who gave her 

birth ; 
Only this was her little life, — this her 

death, 

A short sweet fragrance, fleeting soon, 

like her breath. 

Anonymous 



MEASURING THE BABY 

We measured the riotous baby 

Against the cottage wall; 
A lily grew at the threshold, 

And the boy was just as tall. 
A royal tiger-lily 

With spots of purple and gold, 
And a heart like a jewelled chalice 

The fragrant dew to hold. 

Without, the bluebirds whistled, 

High up in the old roof-trees, 
And to and fro at the window. 

The red rose rocked her bees; 
And the wee pink fists of the baby 

Were never a moment still 
Snatching at shine and shadow 

That danced on the lattice sill. 
207 



ao8 IRoscmars aiiD TRue 

His eyes were as blue as bluebells, 

His mouth like a flower unblown; 
Two little bare feet like pretty white 
mice, 

Peeped out from his snowy gown; 
And we thought, with a thrill of rapture, 

That yet had a touch of pain, 
When June rolls around with her roses. 

We ' 11 measure the boy again. 

Ah me, in a darkened chamber, 

With the sunshine shut away 
Through tears that fell like a bitter rain 

We measured the boy to-day. 
And the little bare feet that were dim- 
pled. 

And sweet as a budding rose, 
Lay side by side together 

In the hush of a long repose. 

Up from the dainty pillow 

White as the risen dawn. 
The fair little face lay smiling 

With the light of Heaven thereon; 



IRoecmnt^ atiD IRue 209 

And the dear little hands, like rose-leaves 
Dropped from the rose, lay still — 

Never to snatch at the sunshine 
That crept on the shrouded sill. 

We measured the sleeping baby, 

With ribbons white as snow 
For the shining rosewood casket 

That waited for him below; 
And out of the darkened chamber 

We went with a childless moan — 
To the height of the sinless angels, 

Our little one had grown. 

Anonymous. 



GRANDFATHER'S PET 

This is the room where she slept, 

Only a year ago, — • 
Quiet and carefully swept, 

Blinds and curtains like snow. 
There by the bed in the dusty gloom 

She would kneel, with her tiny hands 
clasped, and pray. 
Here is the little white rose of a room. 

With the fragrance fled away. 

Nelly, Grandfather's pet, 

With her wise little face, — 
I seem to hear her yet, 

Singing about the place ; 
But the clouds roll on, and the streets 
are drear. 
And the world seems hard with a 
bitter doom; 

2IO 



IRosemarg anO IRue 211 

And Nellie is shining elsewhere, — and 
here 
Is the little white rose of a room. 

Why, if she stood just there. 

As she used to do, 
With her long light yellow hair, 

And her eyes of blue, — 
If she stood, I say, at the edge of the bed, 

And ran to my side with a living touch. 
Though I know she is quiet, and buried, 
and dead, 

I should not wonder much. 

For she was so young, you know, — 

Only seven years old; 
And she loved me, — loved me so. 

Though I was grey and old. 
And her face was so wise, and so sweet 
to see. 
And it still looked living when she was 
dead. 
As she used to plead for her mother and 
me. 
By the side of that very bed. 



212 Ikoscmarg an& Kuc 

I wonder, now, if she 

Knows I am standing here, 
FeeUng wherever she be 

We hold the place so dear? 
It cannot be that she sleeps too sound, 

Still in her little nightgown dressed, 
Not to hear my footsteps sound, 

In the room where she used to rest. 

I have felt hard fortune's stings. 

And battled in doubt and strife. 
And never thought much of things 

Beyond this human life ; 
But I cannot think that my darling died 

Like great strong men with their 

prayers untrue — 
Nay, rather she sits at God's own side. 

And sings as she used to do. 

Anonymous. 



A MOTHER'S PRAYER 

A LITTLE hand within my own 

I hold, 
More precious 't is, than silver, gems, 

Or gold. 

White, dimpled, soft, it nestles 

'Neath my arm. 
As if once sheltered there, 'twere safe 

From harm. 

Oh, darling little hand, that clings 

To mine, 
Oh, loving trustful eyes, that 

Softly shine. 

You look to me for all that love 

Can give, 
Will look to me as long as both 

Shall live. 
213 



214 IRoaemans aiiD V^ue 

1 feel my great unfitness for 

The task; 
More patience, Lord, more gentleness 

I ask. 

More love, with which to teach 

Thy love divine. 
Less faith in my own strength, much 
more 

In Thine. 

More courage, faith, and hope, to point 

The road, 

The narrow road, and straight, which 

leads 

To God. 

Anonymous 



A MOTHER'S OFFERING . 

"Flowers are wanted in Heaven to- 
day," 

An angel said to me, 

"And we have enough save a few more 
buds; 

Your Httle bud I would see. ' ' 

I turned me about, and brought forth 

my child; 
The angel looked in his face and smiled; 
"There is nothing fairer on high," said 

he, 
" I will take this bud if it pleaseth thee.' ' 
I looked at the child, and I thought: 

Alas, 
Life is ever as brittle as glass, — 
In manhood as in infancy: 
215 



2i6 IRofiemars ant) TRue 

Some day when my bud doth wider open, 
Just when for the full-blown flower I 

hope, 
It may fade and droop and die. 
Or if not so, yet in coming years 
(In this sad world, so full of snares), 
As my flower I stoop to kiss. 
It may be my lot to weep and start 
As I see, coiled up in its innocent heart, 
A serpent, with venomed hiss. 
It may fall to me, — ah, who can tell? 
In after years to remember well 
What the angel asked to-day; 
And to wish with many and many a 

tear, 
I had parted that day with my bud so 

dear, 
And granted my God "His way." 

I will do this now. In the realms on 

high 
My child shall nevermore sorrow nor 

cry, 
Mv bud never fade nor fall. 



IRoscmare aiiD IRiic 217 

And I will not think of the dreary tomb, 
I will look above where my flower doth 

bloom, 
I will have no funeral pall. 
For this is not Death, with the sombre 

wing,— 
'Tis but transplanting the dear little 

thing 
To the garden of my God. 
Ah me! I shall miss him, that I know, 
But I will not call this "a cruel blow," 
Nor say "I have felt the rod." 

So I took my babe to my loving breast, 
And nursed and soothed and sung him 
to rest. 

The angel meanwhile smiled. 

"He is sleeping," I said, "let him not 

av/ake, 
Till the glory of God around him 

break," 
And I gave him my little child. 



2i8 TRosemarg anO IRue 

Then I turned, and bowed my head to 

the ground. 
I rose, — neither angel nor child I found. 

But I have no fears ; and I love to think 
Of the lilies above at the fountain's 

brink. 
And I quiet my heart with the precious 

thought — 
My child is with God, and can lack for 

naught. 
And I know that sometime, when God 

doth please, 
I shall meet him again, 'neath the 
shadowless trees. 

Anonymous. 



SUNSHINE 

We called her Sunshine, for her golden 
hair, 
Her dove-gray eyes, her rosy lips, all 
shone 
And gleamed with radiance, as from orb 
more fair 
Than e'en the sun in heaven to look 
upon. 

There was no dark in all her life; her 
bliss 
Was fully bliss; and where her home 
she made 
No shadow fell; for, like the sun in this, 
Her brightness could not bear to look 
upon the shade. 

Our hearts turned to her, as, till day be 
gone, 

2T9 



220 TRoscmar^ anD IRue 

To the dear sun the eyes of flowers 

are given; 
She was our sunshine; m ner light we 

shone, 
As all our earth glows in the light of 

heaven. 

We know the light was over-great for 
earth 
Of her pure innocence, and guileless 
love. 
Methinks the sun is brighter in yon sky 
Since our sweet Sunshine dwelleth 
there above. 

Anonymous. 



THE CHANGELING 

I HAD a little daughter, 

And she was given to me 
To lead me gently backward 

To the Heavenly Father's knee, 
That I, b}^ force of nature, 

Might in some dim wise divine 
The depth of His infinite patience 

To this wayward soul of mine. 

I know not how others saw her, 

But to me she was wholly fair. 
And the light of the Heaven she came 
from 

Still lingered and gleamed in her hair ; 
For it was as wavy and golden. 

And as many changes took, 
As the shadows of sun-gilt ripples 

On the yellow bed of a brook. 

221 



222 IRogemars an& TRue 

To what can I liken her smihng 

Upon me, her kneeUng lover? 
How it leaped from her lips to her eye- 
lids, 

And dimpled her wholly over, 
Till her outstretched hands smiled also, 

And I almost seemed to see 
The very heart of her mother 

Sending sun through her veins to me. 

She had been with us scarce a twelve- 
month 

And it hardly seemed a day. 
When a troop of wandering angels 

Stole my little daughter away; 
Or perhaps those heavenly Zingari 

But loosed the hampering strings. 
And when they had opened her cage- 
door, 

My little bird used her wings. 

But they left in her stead a changeling, 

A little angel child, 
That seems like her bud in full blossom 



TRoscmare anD IRue 223 

And smiles as she never smiled: 
When I wake in the morning I see it 

Where she always used to lie, 
And I feel as weak as a violet 

Alone 'neath the awful sky. 

As weak, yet as trustful also ; 

For the whole year long I see 
All the wonders of faithful Nature 

Still worked for the love of me ; 
Winds wander, and dews drip earth- 
ward. 

Rains fall, suns rise and set, 
Earth whirls, and all but to prosper 

A poor little violet. 

This child is not mine as the first was, 

I cannot sing it to rest, 
I cannot lift it up fatherly 

And bless it upon my breast ; 
Yet it lies in my little one's cradle 

And sits in my little one's chair. 
And the light of the Heaven she's gone to, 

Transfigures its golden hair. 

James Russell Lowell. 



IN HEAVEN 

Silence filled the courts of Heaven, 

Hushed were seraphs' harp and tone, 
When a little new-born seraph 

Knelt before the Eternal Throne; 
While its soft white hands were lifted 

Clasped, as if in earnest prayer, 
And its voice in dove-like murmurs 

Rose like music on the ear. 
Light from the full fount of Glory 

On his robes of whiteness glistened 
And the bright-winged seraphs near hirr. 

Bowed their radiant heads and lis 
tened. 

"Lord, from Thy Throne of Glory here 
My heart turns fondly to another; 

O Lord, our God, the Comforter, 
Comfort, comfort, my sweet mother 

Many sorrows hast Thou sent her. 
Meekly has she drained the cup; 

And the jewels Thou hast lent her 
224 



tRoecmav^ and Vnc 225 

Unrepining yielded up: 
Comfort, comfort, my sweet mother. 

•'Earth is growing lonely round her; 

Friend and lover hast Thou taken; 
Let her not, though woes surround her, 

Feel herself by Thee forsaken. 
Let her think, when faint and weary, 

We are waiting for her here; 
Let each loss that makes earth dreary 

Make the hope of Heaven more dear. 
Comfort, comfort, my sweet mother. 

" Thou who once in nature human 

Dwelt on earth a little child, 
Pillowed on the breast of Woman, 

Blessed Mary, unde filed; 
Thou who, from the cross of suffering, 

Marked Thy Mother's tearful face, 
And bequeathed her to Thy loved one 

Bidding him to fill Thy place — 
Comfort, comfort my sweet mother. 
" Thou who once, from Heaven descend- 
ing. 

Tears and woes and conflicts won: 
Thou who, nature's law suspending, 



226 IRosemarg aiiD IRue 

Gav'st the widow back her son: 
Thou who, at the grave of Lazarus, 

Wept with those who wept their dead : 
Thou who once in mortal anguish 

Bowed Thine own anointed head — 
Comfort, comfort, my sweet mother." 

The dove-Uke murmurs died away 

Upon the radiant air, 
But still the little suppliant knelt 

With hands still clasped in prayer; 
Still were those mildly-pleading eyes 

Turned to the sapphire throne 
Till golden harp and angel voice 

Rang forth in mingled tone; 
And as the swelling numbers flowed, 

By angel voices given, 
Rich, sweet and clear the anthem rolled 

Through all the courts of Heaven : 
" He is the widow's God, " it said, 

"Who spared not His own Son." 
The infant cherub bowed his head, — 

"Thy will, O Lord, be done !" 

The Changed Cross 



AFTER THE BURIAL 

Yes, faith is a goodly anchor; 

When skies are sweet as a psalm, 
At the bows it lolls so stalwart, 

In its bluff, broad-shouldered calm, 

And when over breakers to leeward 
The tattered surges are hurled, 

It may keep our head to the tempest, 
With its grip on the base of the world. 

But after the shipwreck, tell me 

What help in its iron thews, 
Still true to the broken hawser, 

Deep down amid seaweed and ooze ? 

In the breaking gulfs of sorrow, 
When the helpless feet stretch out, 

And find in the deeps of darkness 
No footing so solid as doubt; 
227 



228 IRoaemari? anD TRue 

Then better one spar of Memory, 
One broken plank of the Past, 

That our human heart may cHng to, 
Though hopeless of shore at last. 

To the spirit its splendid conjectures, 
To the flesh its sweet despair, 

Its tears o'er the thin-worn locket, 
With its anguish of deathless hair. 

Immortal ? I feel it and know it, 
Who doubts it of such as she? 

But that is the pang's very secret, — 
Immortal away from me 

There 's a narrow ridge in the graveyard 
Would scarce stay a child in his race. 

But to me and my thought it is wider 
Than the star-sown vague of Space. 

Your logic, my friend, is perfect; 

Your moral, most drearily true; 
But since the earth clashed on her 
coffin 

I keep hearing that, and not you. 



1Ro0cmarB anO "Rue 229 

Console if you will, I can bear it; 

'Tis a well-meant alms of breath; 
But not all the preaching since Adam 

Has made Death other than Death. 

It is pagan, but wait till you feel it, — 
That jar of the earth, that dull shock 

When the ploughshare of deeper passion 
Tears down to our primitive rock. 

"Communion in spirit," — forgive me, 
But I, who am earthly and weak, 

Would give all my incomes from dream- 
land 
For a touch of her hand on my cheek. 

That little shoe in the corner. 
So worn and wrinkled and brown, 

With its emptiness confutes you. 
And argues your wisdom down. 

James Russell Lowell. 



ALL THINGS CAN BE BORNE 

How much the heart may bear, and yet 

not break, 
How much the flesh may suffer, and 

not die ! 
I question much if any pain or ache 
Of soul or body brings our end more 

nigh. 
Death chooses his own time ; till that is 

sworn 
All evils may be borne. 

We shrink and shudder at the surgeon's 
knife, 
Each nerve recoiling from the cruel steel 
Whose edge seems searching for the 
quivering life; 
Yet to our sense the bitter pangs reveal 
230 



IRoscmaKB anD TRue 231 

That still, although the trembling flesh 

be torn, 
This also can be borne. 

We see a sorrow rising in our way. 
And try to flee from the approaching 

ill; 

We seek some small escape, — we weep 

and pray ; 
But when the blow falls, then our 

hearts are still. 
Not that the pain is of its sharpness 

shorn. 
But, that it can he borne. 

We wind our life about another life; 
We hold it closer, dearer than our 
own; 
Anon it faints and falls in deathly strife. 
Leaving us stunned and stricken and 
alone. 
But, ah, we do not die with those we 

mourn ; 
This also can be borne. 



232 lRo0cmari? ano Kuc 

Behold, we live through all things — - 
famine, thirst. 
Bereavement, pain; all grief and 
misery, 
All woe and sorrow; life inflicts its 
worst 
On soul and body, but we cannot die, 
Though we be sick and tired, and faint 

and worn. 
Lo! All things can be borne. 

E. A. Allen. 



TRUST 

Make a little fence of trust 

Around to-day; 
Fill the space with loving words, 

And therein stay. 
Look not through the sheltering bars 

Upon to-morrow ; 
God will help thee bear what comes, 

If joy or sorrow. 

Anonymous. 



GOD'S QUIET 

God's great Hereafter lieth bright, 

Beyond Life's valley, Death's abyss; 
A triumph crowns the perfect right 
Wherewith that world doth compass 
this. 
In silence His Eternity 

Flows round our little isle of life ; 
There's room for calm in that great sea: 
With us, for only strife. 

Anonymous. 
233 



PAX DEI 

" With Christ which is far better.'! 

They are gone to be with Jesus, 

We cannot wioh them here ; 
We would not dim their radiant lot 

With mortal stain or tear. 
For they are folded safely 

Upon that gentle breast 
Where many a weary lamb of earth 

Has found eternal rest. 

They are gone to be with Jesus, 

To be in that sweet home 
Where want, and restlessness, and pain 

Can never, never come. 
Their steps are with the angels, 

'Mid paths all fair and bright, 
Where never a stain of sin can fall 

Like shadows on the light. 
234 



IRosemar^ anO IRue 235 

They are gone to be with Jesus; 

So who would wish them back 
To tread the rugged stones that lie 

In life's uncertain track? 
Their fears and falls are over, 

Nor falls nor fears were vain, 
But who would wish those lips to taste 

The bitter cup again? 

Rev. B. Edwardes. 



DO ANY HEARTS ACHE THERE? 

Do any hearts ache there, beyond the 
peaceful river? 
Do fond souls wait, with longing in 
their eyes, 
For those who come not, will not come 
forever — 
For some wild hope whose dawn will 
never rise? 



236 "Roscmarg anO "Rue 

Do any love there still, beyond the silent 
river, 
The ones they loved in vain this side 
its flow? 
Does the old pain make heart-strings 
ache and quiver? 
I shall go home some day, — go home, 
and know. 
The hill-tops glitter there, beyond the 
shining river; 
The long, glad day, it never turns to 
night. 
They must be blest indeed to bear the 
light forever, — 
Grief longs for clouds to veil its tears 
from sight. 
Are tears transformed to smiles beyond 
the blessed river? 
Are pain and passion drowned be- 
neath its flow? 
Then we who linger on its hither bank, 
and shiver, 
Let us rejoice, — we shall go home, and 
know. 
Louise Chandler Moulton. 



THEIR JOY 

Do they remember, who have passed 
Death's portals, 
The friends they loved on Earth in 
days gone by, 
There, in the blessed land of the Im- 
mortals, 
The yearning faces left beneath the 
sky? 

Do they remember in that land of 
singing 
The "land of silence" where we lay 
our dead? 
That for the joy for them in Heaven 
ringing 
For us is mourning, and a grave in- 
stead? 

237 



238 TRogemai's an^ 1Riie 

Have they forgotten Earth's best 
streams are bitter, 
Its fairest days have clouds to mar the 
sky? 
That e'en our longings for the Land far 
better 
Are saddened by the thought that we 
must die? 

And if remembering, how can they be 
joyous 
E'en in the land where sorrow is un- 
known ? 
Nor ever hear, amid the heavenly 
chorus, 
Earth's heart-breaks mingling their 
sad undertone ? 

We love enough to spare the loved one 
trial ; 
God loves enough to send the needed 
pain, 
The cross, the suffering, the self-denial. 
The earthly loss that brings eternal 
gain. 



IRoscmarg anD IRuc 239 

So it must be that, dwelling there so 
near Him, 
Knowing the joy that from our pain 
must come, 
Our loved ones wait assured that they 
shall hear Him 
In His good time say, "Weary ones, 
come home. " 

Anonymous. 

FOREVER 

Those we love truly never die. 
Though year by year the sad memorial 

wreath, 
A ring and flowers, types of life and 

death, 
Are laid upon their graves. 

For death the pure life saves. 

And life all pure is love, and love can 
reach 

From Heaven to Earth, and nobler les- 
sons teach 

Than those bv mortals read. 



240 'Roeemaris an& IRuc 

Well-blessed is he who hath a dear one 

dead; 
A friend he has whose face will never 

change ; 
A dear communion that will ne'er grow 

strange ; 
The anchor of a love is death. 

The blessed sweetness of a loving breath 
Will reach our cheek all-fresh, through 

weary years. 
For her who died long since, ah, waste 

not tears ! 
She 's thine unto the end. 

Thank God for one dear friend, 

With faith still radiant with the light of 

truth, 
Whose love comes laden with the scent 

of youth, 
Through twenty years of death! 

John Boyle O'Reilly. 



SHALL WE KNOW EACH OTHER 
THERE? 

When we hear the music ringing 

Through the bright celestial dome, 
When sweet angel voices singing 

Gladly bid us welcome home 
To that land of ancient story 

Where the spirit knows no care, 
In the land of light and glory, 

Shall we know each other there? 

When the holy angels meet us, 

As we go to join their band. 
Shall we know the friends who greet us 

In that glorious spirit land? 
Shall we see those bright eyes shining 

On us, as in days of yore? 
Shall we feel their dear arms twining 

Fondly round us, as before? 
i6 241 



242 TRoscmarg auD IRuc 

Yes. My earth-worn soul rejoices, 

And my weary heart grows Hght, 
For the thrilHng angel voices, 

And the angel faces bright 
That shall welcome us in heaven 

Are the loved of "long ago," 
And to them is kindly given 

Thus their mortal friends to know. 

O ye weary ones and lost ones, 

Droop not, faint not, by the way: 
Ye shall join th • loved and lost ones, 

In the land of perfect day. 
Harp-strings touched by angel fingers 

Murmur in my raptured ear, 
Evermore their sweet tone lingers — 

"We shall know each other there.' 



RECOGNITION 

How shall I know my own in other 

worlds ? 
For here their bodies crumble into dust, 
And dear bright eyes and lips that I have 

loved, 
These are my treasures, doomed to moth 

and rust — 
How shall I know my own? 

How have I known my own all through 

the years? 
By sound of voice? by color of the eye? 
By gesture, or by smile, or form, or face? 
Yes, these were signs that I have known 

them by. 
One way I knew my own. 

But best I know them by a finer light, 
Sense without sign, and presence with- 
out shape ; 

243 



244 "RoBcmarij an& "Rue 

A thought that answered thought, a 

flash of soul, 
Love, trust, and shelter, and a sweet 

escape 
From what is not my own. 

And I have loiown them best because to 

me 
They turned, and clung with the heart's 

silent speech; 
Yes, by their love, that drew my 

answering love, 
Till on a mount, transfigured, each to 

each, we stood, 
I, and my own. 

And so, in other worlds I can believe 
I still shall find my loved, and hold them 

dear, 
And shining in new light, and grander 

space, 
Shall see them plainer than I see them 

here, 
And make them more my own. 

Anonymous. 



A THOUGHT OF THE RESURREC- 
TION 

The buds that were hid in the darkness 

Through the winter time and the snow 
Have felt the thrill of the sunlight, 

Their hour to bloom they know. 
Purple, and gold, and scarlet. 

And white as the robes of a king, 
To the glory of love at Easter 

Their beautiful wealth they bring 

The grass that was brown and withered, 

And cold on the sodden plain, 
Has been kissed by the tender .unshine, 

Caressed by the crystal rain; 
And its bright green lances quiver, 

Lo, twice ten million strong, 
And the bird with her nest among them 

Flies up with a sudden song. 
245 



246 IRoscmars an& IRuc 

And we, who have seen our darUngs 

Reft from our side away; 
Who have wept in silent anguish 

O'er the cold and pulseless clay 
Take heart in the Easter gladness 

A parable all may read, 
For the Lord who cares for the flowers, 

Cares well for our greater need. 

He knows of the loss and anguish, 

The grope of the stricken soul, 
He will bring again our dear ones. 

By His touch of life made whole. 
We shall meet and know and love them 

In the spring beyond the sea. 
That, after earth's dreary winter, 

Is coming to you and me. 

Anonymous. 



BLESSED EASTER 

Whenever dawns the Easter sun, 

And Easter's coronal is set 

With garlands of the violet, 

There comes a tender thought of one 

Whose presence seems to linger yet. 

And speak in love to grief's regret. 

When Easter rang her bells in chime, 
She heard a sweeter song we know; 
Beyond the weary life of time. 
She saw a fairer, brighter clime. 
It seems to-day, so long ago 
We laid her where the violets grow. 

When Easter sings her choral sweet 
Of Him who rose this blessed hour, 
We know she kneels at Jesus' feet; 
247 



248 IRoscmarij aiiD IRuc 

She wears the spotless emblem flower, 
A lily in her hand she brings, 
Her offering to the King of Kings. 

And "Holy, Holy, Holy, 
All the saints adore Thee," 
The blessed host of heaven 
In joyous chorus sings. 

Laura F. Hinsdale. 

EASTER HYMN 

A SONG of sunshine through the rain. 

Of spring across the snow, 
A balm to ease the hearts of pain, 

A peace surpassing woe; 
Lift up your hearts, ye sorrowing ones, 

Nor be ye sad of heart. 
For Calvary and Easter Day, 
Earth's saddest day and gladdest day. 

Were just one day apart. 

With shudder of distress and loss, 
The Earth's deep heart was wrung 

As lifted high upon the cross 
The Lord of Glory hung, 



IRoscniars anD IRuc 249 

When rocks were rent and ghostly forms 

Stole in through street and mart; 
But Calvary and Easter Day, 
Earth's blackest day and whitest day, 
Were just one day apart. 

No hint or whisper filled the air 

Of joy that was to be; 
The sad disciples grieving there 

No help or hope could see; 
Yet all the while the glad new sun 

Made ready his swift dart, 
And Calvary and Easter Day, 
Earth's darkest day and brightest day, 

Were but one day apart. 

Oh, when the strife of tongues is loud, 

And the heart of Hope beats low. 
When the prophets prophesy of ill 

And the mourners come and go. 
In this sure thought let us abide 

And keep and stay our heart, 
That Calvary and Easter Day, 
The saddest day and gladdest day, 

Are but one day apart. 



OUR EASTER THANKS 

Thank God for the dear ones safe to-day, 

Safe at home on the happy shore, 
Where the smile of the Father beams 
for aye, 
And the shadow of pain shall fall no 
more. 
Thank God for the hearts that are done 
with sin, 
For the eyes that shall never be blind 
with tears, 
Thank God for the beautiful entered in 
To the perfect rest of the deathless 
years. 

Thank God to-day for the pilgrim feet 
Which have trodden the last of the 
toilsome • way. 
For the strong, for the frail, for the 
babes so sweet 
Who have left forever this crumbling 
clay: 

250 



1Ro6emari2 anD IRue 251 

Who have changed earth's trial, its loss 
and moan, 
For the victor's palm and the voice 
of praise: 
Who dwell in the light of the great white 
throne. 
And join in the song which the ran- 
somed raise. 

Thank God to-day for the hope sublime 
Which fills our souls in the darkest 
hours ; 
Thank God that the transient cares of 
time 
Are wreathed in the glory of fadeless 
flowers. 
Thank God for the rift in the desolate 
grave, — 
'T is the soldier's couch, not the cap- 
tive's prison; 
He hallowed its portal who died to save. 
And we write o'er its arch "The Lord 
is risen. " 

Margaret E. Sangster. 



GIVING THANKS 

We thank Thee, Father, for the Ufe 

So pure, so calm, so sweet, 
The gentle spirit well content 

To sit at Jesus' feet. 

We thank Thee for the earnest faith, 
The kindly word and thought, 

The large warm-hearted sympathy 
That no one vainly sought. 

We thank Thee for the noble soul 
That loved all things of good. 

The simple dignity of this 
Most gracious womanhood. 

We thank Thee for dear memories 
Those blessed days can give. 

The knowledge that through future 3^ears 
Her influence shall live. 

2S2 



TRosemarg atiD IRue 253 

In all our pain, our grief, and loss, 

Thy loving hand we see, 
And thank Thee for the sorrow, Lord, 

That draws us nearer Thee. 

And while our hearts are bowed with 
grief, 

Our tears fall down like rain. 
We thank Thee that she nevermore 

Can know the touch of pain. 

Anonymous. 



THANKSGIVING 

The year began with gladness and a 

song; 
Shall we rejoice because the tune went 

wrong ? 
How can we give Thee thanks ? 

We reaped rich harvests but a year ago ; 
Now, brown and barren, all our fields 
lie low: 
Must we for this give thanks? 

Our eyes are blinded by the tears we 

shed; 
Beside a grave we sit discomforted; 
We see no place for thanks. 

Our hearts are heavy while we stand 

and wait, 
And we are hungry, poor, and desolate: 
Can this be time for thanks? 

254 



•Koscmarg anD IRue 255 

Because the discord only helped the 

strain, 
As hearts grow tender through exceeding 

pain, 
For this we will give thanks. 

Our fields grow fallow under rain and 

snow, 
Because the Husbandxnan works wisest 

so. 
And we will give Him thanks. 

The heavy tears make lighter the heart's 

pain ; 
The bow of promise shines through fall- 
ing rain: 
For that we give Thee thanks. 

The hearts whose food has longest been 

denied 
Will be most grateful for their need 
supplied. 
For all, we render thanks. 

C. B. L. 



HEREAFTER 

Not from the flowers of earth, 

Not from the stars, 

Not from the voicing sea 

May we 
The secret wrest, which bars 
Our knowledge here 
Of all we hope, and all that we may fear 

Hereafter. 

We watch beside our graves, 

Yet meet no sign 

Of where our dear ones dwell; 

Ah, well, 
Even now your dead and mine 
May long to speak 
Of raptures it were wiser we should seek 

Hereafter. 

256 



•Roscmarg anD "Rue 257 

O hearts we fondly love, 

O pallid lips 

That bore our farewell kiss 

from this 
To yonder world's eclipse, — 
Do ye, safe home. 

Smile at your earthly doubts of what 
would come 
Hereafter ? 

Grand birthright of the soul. 

Naught may despoil! 

Oh, precious, healing balm 

To calm 
Our lives in pain and toil ! 
God's boon that we 
Or soon or late shall know what is to be 

Hereafter. 

Anonymous. 



OUR FATHER WHO ART IN 
HEAVEN 

Thou art so far: the way all signal-lighted 
With beacon stars, that sure must lead 
to Thee; 
Thought follows till she falters, dazed, 
affrighted, 
Alone, alone amid immensity. 

Thou art so far. Deep in that secret 
chamber 
Wherein life's still, sweet miracle is 
wrought. 
E'en in the tiny wild flower's heart of 
amber 
Thy temple is, beyond my subtlest 
thought. 

Thou art so far. Vainly my spirit 
hearkens 
For Reason's voice the wide abyss to 
fill; 
The silence overwhelms, the distance 
darkens ; 
Awe-struck, I can but wonder, and be 

still. 

258 



'Rosemary? anD "Rue 259 

Thou art so far. Though, past my soul's 
discerning, 
Veiled in thick darkness is Thy diadem, 
Drawn to Thee ever by my heart's 
dumb yearning, 
I, trembhng, strive to touch Thy gar- 
ment's hem. 

And, lo, Thou art so near, the mists are 
mellowed 
With Thine effulgence, shining from 
above, 
And all the dim, dim way grows sweet 
and hallowed, 
Warmed, lighted, glorified by Thy 
strong love. 

Thou art so near. As to the little lisper 
Who sobs a wish none else may un- 
derstand, 
The mother bends, — so Thou, to my 
faint whisper, 
With ready ear, and tender, out- 
stretched hand. 



26o IRoecmat^ and IRue 

Thou art so near. Through all my joys 
and sorrows 
Thou leadest, though Thy face I may 
not see; 
My yesterdays were Thine, and my to- 
morrows 
I leave with Thee, — I leave them all 
with Thee. 

New York Observer. 

AS YEARS GO BY 

When we are young, this year we call 

the worst 
That we can know; this bitter day is 

cursed 
And no more such our hearts can bear, 

we say. 
But yet, as Time falls fast from us away. 
There comes a day when all of this is 

fair 
And sweet to what, still living, we must 

bear. 

W. Morris. 



GOOD NIGHT, THE DREAMS OF 
EARTH 

Good-night, Good-night, the dreams of 

earth are ended, 
Its glory and its passion passed away, 
And a new sense, of joy and terror 

blended, 
Holds all my heart in its resistless 

sway: 
The things of Time are fading from my 

eyes, 
Th' Unseen encircles me with strange 

surprise. 

When I look back upon the way I 've 
wandered. 
The wasted energies, the time mis- 
spent, 

261 



262 IRoecmarg anD "Kue 

Wealth, hopes, affections, all too often 
squandered, 
That might have been to Heaven be- 
fore me sent, 

My strength is turned to weakness at the 
sight; 

The time for toil is past: Good-night, 
Good-night. 

There is one only hope for souls re- 
penting. 
With heart and work, alas, all incom- 
plete ; 
It is the Cross, which spans both worlds, 
presenting 
A pathway sure, for the most feeble 
feet; 
I see it now, outspread in all its might; 
Who trusts that Bridge is safe: Good- 
night, Good-night. 

Prepare me then, beloved, the food 
immortal. 
To strengthen me upon my wondrous 

way, 



•Koscmarg anD "Rue 263 

And go thou with me to the furthest 
portal 
To which companion footsteps yet may- 
stray ; 

Then hide thine eyes, with their soft 
pleading light, 

For I depart alone: Good-night, Good- 
night. 

Let those dear lips yet once, once more 

caress me. 
Then pause awhile until the morn has 

come; 
For when again with eager joy they press 

me, 
' Twill be within our Father's house, 

our Home, 
Among His gathered children, pure and 

bright. 

Within the Land where there is no more 

night. 

Caroline M. Noel. 



A LITTLE WHILE 

" A little while and ye shall not see me; 
And again a little while and ye shall see me." 

A LITTLE while with spirit all alone 
To walk life's rugged path with falter- 
ing feet; 

A little while to smother sigh and moan, 
Doing hard duties by love's smile 
made sweet; 

Thus thou hast said, dear Lord — "a 
little while"— 

And then the everlasting sunlight of thy 
smile. 

What matter for the tears, or for the 
thorns 
The keen earth-sorrows planted by 
the way: 

264 



IRosemare anO IRuc 265 

There is a rest for every soul that 
mourns, 
In the soft light of Heaven's Sab- 
bath day; 

Oh! wherefore droop when such dear 
hopes beguile? 

Look up, O fainting soul — 't is but a 
Httle while. 

A little longer, toiling hands, work on ; 
A little longer lose the needed sleep. 
We follow One whose feet these paths 

have gone; 
He soon will grant a slumber restful, 

deep; 
Free flow the fountains, green the 

gardens smile; 
Well may we work and wait, — ' t is such 

a little while ! 

The Promiser hath said 't will not be 

long; 
That no continuing city here is given ; 
The land of hope and happiness and 

song 



266 IRosemari? anD TRue 

Lies just before, where but the cloud- 
veiled river, 
The waves of life so crystalline and clear, 
The list'ning heart of faith can almost 
hear. 

Only a little while; we well can wait, 
And bear each loss and cross with 
quiet heart, 
While this sweet promise gilds the sad- 
dest fate, 
And pours its balm upon the sorest 
smart. 
Thy patient lips, dear Lord, might 

almost smile, 
Breathing the simple words — "a little 
while." 

Anonymous. 



GOING HOME 

Out of the chill and the shadow, 

Into the thrill and the shine ; 
Out of the death and the famine, 

Into the fulness divine; 
Up from the strife and the battle, 

(Oft with the shameful defeat) 
Up to the palm and the laurel, 

Oh, but the rest will be sweet ! 

Leaving the cloud and the tempest. 

Reaching the balm and the cheer ; 
Finding the end of our sorrow, 

Finding the end of our fear; 
Seeing the face of the Master, 

Yearned for in " distance and dream,' ' 
O for that rapture of gladness, 

O for that vision supreme ! 
267 



268 IRoscmari? anO IRue 

Meeting the dear ones departed, 

Knowing them, clasping their hands, 
All the beloved and true-hearted, 

There in the fairest of lands ; 
Sin evermore left behind us, 

Pain nevermore to distress : 
Changing the moan for the music, 

Living the Saviour to bless. 

Why should we care for the dying 

That is but springing to life ? 
Why should we shrink from the struggle, 

Pale at the swift-closing strife? 
Since it is only behind us, 

Scarcely a step and a breath, 
All that dear home of the living. 

Guarded by what we call Death. 

There we shall learn the sweet meanings 
Hidden to-day from our eyes ; 

There we shall waken like children 
Joyous at gift and surprise. 

Come then, dear Lord, in the gloaming, 
Or when the dawning is gray, 



IRoecmaz^ and IRuc 269 

Take us to dwell in Thy presence, 
Only Thyself lead the way. 

Out of the chill and the shadow, 

Into the thrill and the shine ; 
Out of the death and the famine, 

Into the fulness divine; 
Out of the sigh and the silence. 

Into the deep, swelling song; 
Out of the exile and bondage, 

Into the home-gathered throng. 

Margaret E. Sangster 



THE BLESSED DEAD 

Oh, it is sweet to think 

Of those that are departed, 
While murmured Aves sink 

To silence tender-hearted; 
While tears that have no pain 

Are tranquilly distilling, 
And the dead live again, 

In hearts that love is filling. 



270 IRoscmars aiiO "Rue 

Yet not as in the days 

Of earthly ties we love them 
For they are touched with rays 

From light that is above them ; 
Another sweetness shines 

Around their well-known features: 
God with His glory signs 

His dearly ransomed creatures. 

Ah, they are more our own 

SiixCe now they are God's only, 
And each one that has gone 

Has left our hearts less lonely. 
He mourns not seasons fled 

Who now in Him possesses. 
Treasures of many dead 

In their dear Lord's caresses. 

Dear dead — they have become 
Like guardian angels to us, 

And distant Heaven, like home. 
Through them begins to woo us. 

Love that was earthly, wings 
Its flight to holier places; 



IRosemarB atiD iRue 271 

The dead are sacred things 
That multiply our graces. 

They whom we loved on Earth 

Attract us now to Heaven ; 
Who shared our grief and mirth 

Back to us now are given. 
They move with noiseless foot 

Gravely and sweetly round us, 
And their soft touch hath cut 

Full many a chain that bound us. 

O dearest dead, to Heaven 

With grudging sighs we gave you, 
To Him — be doubts forgiven — 

Who took you there to save you: 
Now get us grace to love 

Your memories yet more kindly, 
Pine for our homes above, 

And trust in God more blindly. 

F. W. Faber. 



ALL SOULS' DAY 

The wild, wild rain is falling, — 

They do not fear its beat ; 
The autumn wind is wailing, — 

They rest; their sleep is sweet. 
Great trees in lonely forests 

Their branches writhe and twine ^ 
Their hands are crossed forever, 

In faith's eternal sign. 

Give them, O Lord, eternal rest. 

And light perpetual. 

Where are they now, heart's dearest 
Who walked with us below? 

Do they pity while they love us? 
Do they half our anguish know? 

The young, the pure, the noble, 
Who fell like summer flowers, 
272 



IRosemace anD IRuc 273 

Their eyes have ceased from weeping, 
But bitter tears blind ours. 
Give them, O Lord, eternal rest, 
And light perpetual 

Dear Heaven, with all the glory 
That Earth ascribes to thee, 

Of angel, saint, and martyr, 
Content couldst thou not be ? 

Why take from us our darlings. 
Our little earthly day 

To sorrow's black night turning? 
Forgive us — we but pray, 
Give them, O Lord, eternal rest, 
And light perpetual. 

Anonymous. 



x8 



THE NARROW HOME 

A NARROW home, but very still it seem- 
eth; 
A silent home, no stir of tiimult here ; 
Who wins that pillow of no sorrow 
dreameth, 
No whirling echoes jar his sealed ear. 
The tired hand lies very still and quiet, 
The weary foot no more hard paths 
will tread ; 
The great world may revolve in clash and 
riot, 
To its loud summons leaps nor heart 
nor head. 

The violets bloom above the tranqtiil 
sleeper, 

274 



1Ro6cmarB anDlRue 275 

The morning dews fall gently on the 
grass ; 
Amid the daisies kneels the lonely 
weeper, 
He knows not when our lingering 
footsteps pass. 
The autumn winds sigh softly o'er his 
slumber, 
The winter piles the snow-drift o'er 
his rest ; 
He does not care the flying years to 
number, 
The narrow house contents its silent 
guest. 

No baffled hope can haunt, no doubt 
perplexes. 
No parted love the deep repose can 
chafe ; 
No petty care can irk, no trouble vexes. 
From misconstruction his hushed 
heart is safe. 
Freed from the weariness of worldly 
fretting. 



276 IRoscmar^ anD "Kue 

From pain and failure, bootless toil 

and strife, 
From the dull wretchedness of vain 

regretting 
He lies whose course has passed away 

from life. 

A narrow home, and far beyond it lieth 
The land whereof no mortal lips can 
tell; 
We strain our sad eyes as the spirit 
fiieth, 
Our fancy loves on Heaven's bright 
hills to dwell ; 
God shuts the door, no angel lip uncloses, 
They whom Christ raised no word of 
guidance said; 
Only the Cross speaks where our dust 
reposes — 
"Trust Him who calls unto His rest 
our dead." 

Anonymous. 



FRIENDS DEPARTED 

They are all gone into the world of light, 
And I alone sit Ungering here; 

Their very memory is fair and bright 
And my sad soul doth cheer. 

It glows and gUtters in my cloudy breast 
Like stars upon some gloomy grove, 

Or those faint beams in which this hill is 
dress' d 
After the sun's remove. 

I see them walking in an air of glory 
Whose Hght doth trample on my days: 

My days which are at best but dull 
and hoary, 
Mere glimmerings and decays. 

O holy Hope, and high HumiUty, 
High as the heavens above, 
277 



278 IRoacmaci? anD "Kuc 

These are your walks, and you have 
showed them me, 
To kindle my cold love. 

Dear, beauteous Death, the jewel of the 
just, 

Shining nowhere but in the dark, 
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, 

Could man out-look that mark. 

He that hath found some fledg'd bird's 
nest may know 

At first sight if the bird be flown. 
But what fair dell he sings in now. 

That is to him unknown. 

And yet as angels in some brighter 
dreams 
Call to the soul when man doth sleep, 
So some strange thoughts transcend our 
wonted themes, 
And into glory peep. 

H. Vaughan. 



YET A LITTLE WHILE 

Oh, for the peace which floweth as a 
river, 
Making life's desert places bloom and 
smile! 
Oh, for a faith to grasp Heaven's bright 
forever, 
Amid the shadows of Earth's "little 
while." 

A little while for patient vigil-keeping, 
To face the storm, to wrestle with the 
strong ; 
A little while to sow the seed with weep- 
ing, 
Then bind the sheaves and sing the 
harv^est song. 
279 



28o IRosemarg anD "Rue 

A little while the earthen pitcher taking 
To wayside brooks, from far-off fount- 
ains fed; 
Then the parched lip its thirst forever 
slaking 
Beside the fulness of the fountain- 
head. 

A little while to keep the oil from failing ; 
A little while Faith's flickering lamp 
to trim; 
And then, the Bridegroom's coming 
footstep hailing. 
To haste to meet Him with the bridal 
hymn. 

And He who is at once both Gift and 

Giver, 

The future glory and the present 

smile, 

With the bright promise of the glad 

forever. 

Will light the shadows of the little 

while. 

Jane Crewdson. 



GOOD-NIGHT 

If I could only lay me down to rest, 
Crossing my weary hands upon my 

breast, 
And shut my troubled eyes without a 

fear, 
Knowing that they would never open 

here, 
How blissful it must be, both worlds in 

sight. 
To say my tired good-night. 

If only from the fretting cares of time 
To truths eternal I at once might climb, 
No longer count the graves whereon I 

tread. 
But in one moment be all comforted, — 
If such could be, what joy, in upward 

flight. 
To sing my tired good-night. 

28l 



282 TRoaemarg anD IRuc 

I watch the sweetest flowers throughout 

the morn, 
I look, and lo, at noontide they are gone; 
The wings of sorrow are forever spread; 
I weep, but weeping brings not back 

my dead. 
If God would but reveal the breaking 

light. 
How sweet to say good-night. 

This flooding tide of yearning will not 

cease; 
I cannot reach to touch the lips of peace, 
Nor can I gather to my sobbing heart 
The white-winged angels God has set 

apart. 
Yet haply I may find them all in sight 
After some tired good-night. 

What wonder, then, that I should long 

to rest, 
Crossing my weary hands upon my 

breast ? 
To shut my troubled eyes without a 

fear, 



•Roscmari^ anD IRue 283 

Knowing that they would never open 

here? 
To say to Earth, with Heaven alone in 

sight, 
My raptiirous good-night. 



THE CHRISTIAN'S GOOD-NIGHT. 

Early Christians were accustomed to bid 
their dying friends " Good-night " — so sure 
were they of their awakening on the Resur- 
rection Morning. 

Sleep on, beloved, sleep, and take thy 

rest, 
Lay down thy head upon thy Saviour's 

breast ; 
We love thee well, but Jesus loves thee 

best; 

Good-night. 



284 IRoscmars anD "Rue 

Calm is thy slumber as an infant' s sleep, 
But thou shalt wake, no more to toil and 

weep. 
Thine is a perfect rest, secure and deep. 
Good-night. 

Until the shadows from this Earth are 

cast. 
Until He gathers in His sheaves at last, 
Until the twilight gloom is overpast, 
Good-night. 

Until the Easter glory lights the skies. 
Until the de'ad in Jesus shall arise. 
And He shall come, but not in lowly 
guise, 

Good-night. 

Until, made beautiful by Love divine, 
Thou in the likeness of thy Lord shalt 

shine, 
And He shall bring that golden crown of 

thine, — 

Good-night. 



IRosemari? anO IRue 285 

Only " Good-night,' ' beloved, not " Fare- 
well," 

A little while and all His saints shall 
dwell 

In hallowed union, indivisible; 
Good-night. 

Until we meet again before His throne. 
Clothed in the spotless robes He gives 

His own, 
Until we know, even as we are known. 
Good-night. 

Anonymous. 



HOLY CHRISTMAS NIGHT 

God of the holy Christmas night, 
We come as Httle children come 
Around the parent's knee at home, 

We kneel and ask for strength and light. 

We trust Thee though this life is dark 
And hard for us to understand ; 
We reach to touch Thy guiding hand, 

To lead us forward to Thy ark. 

We know Thee great, we feel Thee good, 
Thy love shall be our guiding star 
To lead us to Thee from afar. 

From out each dark rebellious mood. 

All through the seasons that are past 
Thou hast o'erwatched our devious 
way, 

286 



•Rogemare anD IRue 287 

Hast suffered us to go astray, 
But brought us back to Thee at last. 

So watch o'er us unto the end 

And bring us safely home to Thee, 
Where sorrow and all sighing flee. 

And every soul knows God a friend. 

Anonymous. 



CHRISTMAS GUESTS 

The quiet day in Winter beauty closes, 
And sunset clouds are tinged in crim- 
son dye, 
As if the blushes of our faded roses 
Came back to tint this sombre Christ- 
mas sky. 

A lonely crow floats o'er the upland 
ranges, 
A robin carols from the chestnut tree ; 
The voice that changes not amid our 
changes 
Sounds faintly from the melancholy 
sea. 

We sit and watch the twilight darken 
slowly ; 

288 



TRoscmarg anD IRuc 289 

Dies the last gleam upon the lone hill- 
side, 
And in the stillness, growing deep and 
holy, 

Our Christmas guests come in this 
eventide. 

They enter softly — some with baby 
faces, 
Whose sweet blue eyes have scarcely 
looked on life; 
We bid them welcome to their vacant 
places, 
They won the peace and never knew 
the strife. 



And some, with steadfast glances, meet 
us gravely, 
Their hands point backward to the 
paths they trod; 
Dear ones, we know how long ye strug- 
gled bravely, 
And died upon the battle-field of God. 
19 



290 1Ro6cmarg aiiD IRue 

And some are here whose patient souls 
were riven 
By our hard words and looks of cold 
disdain ; 
Ah, loving hearts, to speak of wrong 
forgiven 
Ye come to visit our dark world again. 

But One there is, more kind than any 
other. 
Whose presence fills the silent house 
with light — 
The Prince of Peace, our gracious Elder 
Brother, 
Comes to His birthday feast with us 
to-night. 

Thou, who wast bom and cradled in a 
manger, 
Hast gladdened our poor earth with 
peace and rest; 
O best-beloved, come not as a stranger, 
But tarry, Lord, our Friend and Christ- 
mas Guest. 

Anonymous. 



THE BELLS ACROSS THE SNOW 

Oh, Christmas, merry Christmas ! is it 

really come again, 
With its memories and greetings, with 

its joy and with its pain ? 
There's a minor in the carol, and a 

shadow in the light. 
And a spray of cypress twining with the 

holly wreath to-night. 
And the hush is never broken by the 

laughter light and low. 
As we listen in the starlight to the 

bells across the snow. 

Ohj. Christmas, merry Christmas ! ' T is 

not so very long 
Since other voices blended with the 

carol and the song. 

2gi 



292 1Ro0cmarg anD IRuc 

If we could but hear them singing as 

they are singing now, 
If we could but see the radiance of the 

crown on each dear brow, 
There would be no sigh to smother, no 

hidden tear to flow. 
As we listen in the star-light to the bells 

across the snow. 

Oh, Christmas, merry Christmas ! This 

never more can be ; 
We cannot bring again the days of our 

unshadowed glee. 
But Christmas, happy Christmas, sweet 

herald of good-will. 
With holy songs of glory brings a holy 

gladness still; 
For peace and hope may brighten, and 

patient hope may glow. 
As we listen in the star-light to the bells 

across the snow. 

Frances Ridley Havergal. 



A STILLNESS 

God sends sometimes a stillness in our 
life— 
The bivouac, the sleep, 
When on the silent battle-field the strife 

Is hushed in slumber deep; 
When wearied hearts exhausted sink to 

rest. 
Remembering not the struggle nor the 
quest. 

We know such hours, when the dim 
dewy night 
Bids day's hot turmoil cease; 
When star by star steals noiselessly in 
sight. 
With silent smiles of peace ; 
293 



294 IRoBemarg anD TRue 

When we lay down our load, and half 

forget 
The morrow comes and we must bear 

it yet. 

We know such hours, when after days 
of pain, 
And nights when sleep was not, 
God gives us ease and peace and calm 
again 
Till, all the past forgot, 
We say in rest and thankfulness most 

deep. 
E'en so " He giveth His beloved sleep." 

When some strong chain that bound us 

by God's strength 
Is losed or torn apart. 
Or when, beloved and longed-for, comes 

at length 
Some friend to glad our heart, — 
We know the calm that follows on such 

bliss, 
That looks no farther, satisfied with 

this. 



"Koscmarij anD IRue 295 

God does not always loose the chain, 

nor give 
The loved ones back to us; 
Sometimes 'mid strife and tumult we 

must live, 
Learning His silence thus: 
There is a rest for those who bear His 

will, 
A peacefulness than freedom sweeter 

still. 

He giveth rest more perfect, pure, and 
true. 
While we His burdens bear; 

It springeth not from parted pain, but 
through 
The accepted blessing there: 

The lesson pondered o'er with thought- 
ful eyes, 

The faith that sees in all a meaning 
wise. 

Deep in the heart of pain God's hand 
hath set 
A hidden rest and bliss; 



296 "Roacmari? aiiD TRue 

Take as His gift the pain, the gift brings 
yet 
A truer happiness: 
God's voice speaks through it all, the 

high behest 
That bids His people enter into rest. 

Lucy Fletcher. 



LOVE UNEXPRESSED 

The sweetest notes among the human 
heart-strings 
Are dulled with rust ; 
The sweetest chords adjusted by the 
angels 
Are clogged with dust; 
We pipe and pipe again our dreary music 

Upon the self-same strains, 
While sounds of crime, and fear, and 
desolation. 
Come back in sad refrains. 

On through the world we go, an army 
marching 
With Hstening ears. 
Each listening, sighing for the heavenly 
music 
He never hears. 

297 



298 IRoecmat^ anD IRue 

Each longing, sighing for a word of 
comfort, 
A word of tender praise, 
A word of love to cheer the endless 
journey 
Of Earth's hard, bitter days. 



They loved us, and we know it; this 
suffices 
For reason's share; 
Why should they pause to give that love 
expression 
With gentle care? 
Why should they pause? but still our 
hearts are aching 
With all the gnawing pain 
Of hungry love, that longs to hear the 
music, 
And longs and longs in vain. 

We love them, and they know it; if we 
falter 
With fingers numb. 



TRoscmarg anD IRue 299 

Among the unused strings of love's 
expression, 
The notes are dumb; 
We shrink within ourselves in voiceless 
sorrow, 
Leaving the words unsaid. 
And, side by side with those we love 
the dearest, 
In silence on we tread. 

Thus on we tread, and thus each heart 
in silence 
Its fate fulfils, 
Waiting and hoping for the heavenly 
music 
Beyond the distant hills. 
The only difference of the love in heaven 

From love below 
Is — here we love and know not how to 
tell it, 
And there we all shall know. 

Constance Woolson. 



THE HEAVENLY GUIDE 

I KNOW not the way I am going, 

But well do I know my Guide; 
With a childlike trust I give my hand 

To the mighty Friend by my side. 
The on^y thing that I say to Him 

As He takes it is, " Hold it fast, 
Suffer me not to lose my way, 

And bring me home at last. " 

As when some hapless wanderer 

Alone, in an unknown land, 
Tells the guide his destined place to rest, 

And leaves all else in his hand, — 
'Tis home, 't is home that we wish to 
reach, 
He who guides us may choose the 
way: 
Little we heed what path we take, 

If nearer home each day. 

Anonymous. 
300 



NOT KNOWING 

I KNOW not what shall befall me; 

God hangs a mist o'er my eyes; 
And thus each step of my onward path, 

He makes new scenes to rise, 
And every joy he sends me comes 

As a sweet and glad surprise. 

I see not a step before me, 
As I tread on another year. 

But the past is in God's keeping, 
The future His mercy shall clear ; 

And what looks dark in the distance 
May brighten as I draw near. 

For perhaps the dreadful future 

Is less bitter than I think: 
The Lord may sweeten the waters 

Before I stoop to drink; 
Or if Marah must be Marah, 

He will stand beside the brink. 

It may be He keeps waiting 
Till the coming of my feet 
301 



302 •Rogemarg aiiD IRue 

Some gift of such rare blessedness, 
Some joy so strangely sweet, 

That my Hps shall only tremble 
With the joy they cannot speak 

Oh, restful, blissful ignorance, — 

'Tis blessed not to know; 
It stills me in those mighty arms. 

Which will not let me go, 
And hushes my weary soul to sleep 

On the bosom that loves me so. 

So I go on, not knowing; 

I would not if I might. 
I would rather walk in the dark with God, 

Than go alone in the light ; 
I would rather walk with Him by faith, 

Than walk alone by sight. 

My heart shrinks back from trials 

Which the future may disclose, 
Yet I never had a sorrow 

But what the dear Lord chose. 
So I send the coming tears back, 

With the whispered words, "He 
knows, ' ' 

Anonymous. 



THOU KNOWEST 

Thou knowest, Lord, the weariness and 
sorrow 
Of the sad heart that comes to Thee 
for rest; 

Cares of to-day and burdens of to- 
morrow, 
Blessings implored, and sins to be 
confessed ; 

I come before Thee at Thy gracious 
word, 

And lay them at Thy feet, — Thou 
knowest. Lord. 

Thou knowest all the past, — how long 
and blindly 
On the dark mountains the lost wan- 
derer strayed; 
303 



304 IRoscmarg an& IRue 

How the Good Shepherd followed, and 

how kindly 
He bore it home, upon His shoulders 

laid, 
And healed the bleeding wounds, and 

soothed the pain. 
And brought back life, and hope, and 

strength again. 

Thou knowest all the present, — each 

temptation, 
Each toilsome duty, each forboding 

fear; 
All to myself assigned of tribulation, 
Or to beloved ones, than self more 

dear. 
All pensive memories as I journe}^ on, 
Longings for vanished smiles and voices 

gone. 

Thou knowest all the future, — gleams 
of gladness 
By stormy clouds too quickly over- 
cast : 



IRosemarg an& IRue 305 

Hours of sweet fellowship, and parting 

sadness, 
And the dark river to be crossed at 

last: 
Oh, what could confidence and hope 

afford 
To tread that path, but this? — Thou 

knowest, Lord. 

Thou knowest, not alone as God, 

all-knowing — 
As man our mortal weakness Thou 

hast proved; 
On Earth with purest sympathies o'er- 

flowing, 
O Saviour, Thou hast wept, and Thou 

hast loved; 
And love and sorrow still to Thee may 

come 
And find a hiding-place, a rest, a home. 

Therefore I come, Thy gentle call 
obeying, 



3o6 IRoeemars an& IRiic 

And lay my sins and sorrows at Thy 
feet, 
On everlasting strength my weakness 
staying, 
Clothed in Thy robe of righteousness 
complete ; 
Then, rising and refreshed, I leave Thy 

throne, 
And follow on to know as I am known. 
Janb Borthwick. 

FATHER, TAKE MY HAND 

The way is dark, my Father. Cloud 

on cloud 
Is gathering quickly o'er my head, and 

loud 
The thunders roar above me. See, I 

stand 
Like one bewildered. Father, take my 
hand 

And through the gloom 
Lead safely home 
Thy child. 



*Ro0cmari5 an& IRue 307 

The day goes fast, my Father, and the 

night 
Is drawing darkly down. My faithless 

sight 
Sees ghostly visions. Fears, a spectral 

band, 
Encompass me. Oh, Father, take my 
hand, 

And from the night 
Lead up to light 
Thy child. 



The way is long, my Father, and my 

soul 
Longs for the rest and quiet of the 

goal; 
While yet I journey through this 

weary land, 
Keep me from wandering. Father, 
take my hand ; 

Quickly and straight 
Lead to Heaven's gate 
Thy child. 



3o8 IRogemar^ an& IRuc 

The path is rough, my Father. Many 

a thorn 
Has pierced me; and my weary feet, all 

torn 
And bleeding, mark the way. Yet Thy 

command 
Bids me press forward. Father, take 
my hand, 

Then safe and blest 
Lead up to rest. 
Thy child. 

Henry N. Cobb. 



LIFT ME UP 

Out of myself, dear Lord, 
Oh, lift me up ! 
No more I trust myself in life's dim 

maze 
Sufficient to myself; in all its devious 

ways 
I trust no more, but humbly at Thy 
throne 
" Lead me, for I cannot go alone." 

Out of my weary self 
Oh, lift me up ! 
I faint, — the road winds upward all 

the way ; 
Each night but ends another weary day. 
Give me Thy strength, and may I be 

so blest 
As *'on the Heights" to find the longed- 
for rest. 

Out of my selfish self 

Oh, lift me up ! 

309 



3IO IRosemari^ anD IRue 

To live for others, and, in living so, 

To be a blessing wheresoe'er I go; 

To give the sunshine, and the clouds 

conceal. 
Or let them but the silver tints reveal. 

Out of my lonely self 
Oh, lift me up ! 
Though other hearts with love are 

running o'er, 
My darling fills my lonely home no more ; 
Though every day I miss the fond 

caress, 
Help me to join in others' happiness. 

Out of my doubting self 
Oh, lift me up ! 
Help me to feel that thou art always 

near; 
That, though 't is night, and all around 

seem drear, 
Help me to know that, though I cannot 

see, 
It is my Father's hand that leadeth me. 
Sister Bernardine. 



LEAD THEM HOME 

Lord, we can trust Thee for our holy 
dead: 
They, underneath the shadow of Thy 
tomb, 
Have entered into peace; with bended 
head 
We thank Thee for their rest, and 
for our Hghtened gloom. 

But, Lord, our living, who on stormy 
seas 
Of sin and sorrow still are tempest- 
tossed ; — 
Our dead have reached their haven, but 
for these, 
Teach us to trust Thee, Lord, for 
these our loved and lost. 
311 



312 IRosemars an& IRue 

For these we make our passion-prayer 
to-night, 
For these we cry to Thee through 
the long day; 
We see them not. Oh, keep them in Thy 
sight ! 
From them and us be Thou not very 
far away. 

And if not home to us, yet lead them 
home 
To where Thou standest at the heav- 
enly gate, 
That so from Thee they shall not 
further roam; 
And grant us patient hearts, Thy 
gathering time to wait. 



MIZPAH 

The Lord watch between thee and me 
When we are absent one from another; 
Though long miles away thou may'st be, 
And a hard fate each from the other 
Forever divide, — yet still must my 

prayer 
E'er be the same in hope or despair, 
In days of soft peace, in suffering's 

breath. 
In storm or in calm, in life or in death, 
In right or in wrong, in good or in ill. 
Ever the same, the same prayer still: 
The Lord watch between thee and me, 
Thee, love, no o^"her, 
Through might of the land, through 

power of the sea, 
Where'er thou may 'st be, 
While we are absent one from another. 
Constance F. Woolson, 
313 



HE KNOWETH ALL 

The twilight falls, the night is near; 

I fold my work away, 
And kneel to One who bends to hear 

The story of to-day. 

The old, old story, yet I kneel, 

To tell it at Thy call ; 
And cares grow lighter as I feel 

That Jesus knows them all. 

Yes, all — the morning and the night, 

The joy, the grief, the loss, 
The roughened path, the sunbeam 
bright, 

The hourly thorn and cross. 

Thou knowest all. I lean my head, 
My weary eyelids close, 
314 



IRosemars anC) IRue 315 

Content and glad awhile to tread 
This path, since Jesus knows. 

And he has loved me. All my heart 
With answering love is stirred, 

And every anguished pain and smart 
Finds healing in the Word. 

So here I lay me down to rest, 

As nightly shadows fall, 
And lean confiding on His breast 

Who knows and pities alL 



I'LL STRUGGLE ON 

I'll struggle on, 

And keep my way through noonday 

heat and glare, 
O'er stony paths that wound my weary 

feet; 
While duty calls, my trials will I meet. 
To that blest land of Beulah, where 
Is rest and peace, and all is good and 

fair, 
Though oft I wander in the gloom of 

night, 
A noble aim shall be my beacon light ; 
Thus will I struggle on. 

I '11 struggle on, 

Nor shall the song of bird, nor soothing 

lay 

316 



IRogemarg anO IRue 317 

Of purling brook that ripples in the 
glade, 

Entice me there to lie beneath the shade, 

Nor cause me to repine, my feet to 
swerve ; 

I'll onward press, so duty points the way. 

Though I am weary, broken, sad and 
faint, 

Nor heart nor lips shall utter a com- 
plaint ; 

Aye, thus I '11 struggle on. 

I '11 struggle on. 

Nor long to turn even though my 

halting pace 
Leads to no high reward of gold or 

fame. 
E'en though my only title to a name 
Is to have bravely run a noble race. 
I '11 rest content in my assigned place, 
So I may hear the Master's kind voice 

say 
"Well done" when comes the evening 

of my day. 



3i8 IRoeemarg anD TRue 

I 'U struggle on. 

My work shall be some weary mate to 

cheer, 
Some stricken heart, some cruel wound 

to heal. 
Then, when my time is come, and 1 

shall feel 
The hand of Death, and know that he 

is near, 
I'll lay aside my staff, and without fear 
Will gladly welcome with my parting 

breath 
The glorious morning ushered in by 

Death. 
Till then, I'll struggle on. 



DEATH'S CHANGE. 

Death cannot change his face, tender 

and fair; 

' Tis he who changes Death, and makes 

him dear. 

Edwin Arnold. 



THE CROSS 

The Cross is hard to bear to-day, 

The Crown is bright that shines for aye, 

The strand is not so far away ; 

And, though the awful waves may roll, 

The harbor-bar will soon be passed, 

And anchorage be gained at last. 



319 



DYING 

Why will ye call it Death's dark night? 
Death is the entrance into light; 
Behind its cloudy purple gates 
The Everlasting Morning waits. 

Then fear not Death, its pains, its strife, 
Its weakness, — these belong to Life: 
Death is the moment when they cease — 
When Christ says "Come," and all is 
peace. 

Once, in the silence of the night, 
A maiden lay, with smiles of light, 
Her blue eyes gazing open wide, 
And a few violets by her side. 

Her mother asked her why she smiled, — 
What pleasant thoughts the time be- 
guiled? 

320 



IRosemarB anO IRuc 321 

She answered her with gentle breath, 
"Thoughts of the sweetness found in 
Death." 

Death was but as her dark-hued flowers, 
ExhaHng sweetness through the hours, 
Till, ere the early dawn could be, 
She breathed into Eternity. 

Caroline M. Noel. 



TEACH ME TO LIVE 

Teach me to live. ' T is easier far to 
die, 
Gently and silently to pass away, 
On earth's long night to close the 
heavy eye. 
And waken in the glorious realms of 
day. 

Teach me that harder lesson how to 
live, 
To serve Thee in the darkest paths 
of life; 



322 •Rosemary anO "Rue 

Arm me for conflict now, fresh vigor 
give, 
And make me more than conqueror 
in the strife. 

Teach me to live Thy purpose to fulhl; 

Bright for Thy glory let my taper 

shine ; 

Each day renew, remould this stubborn 
will; 

Closer round Thee my heart's affec- 
tion twine. 

Teach me to live for sin and self no more, 

But use the time remaining to me yet, 

Not mine own pleasure seeking as 

before, 

Wasting no precious hours in vain 

regret. 

Teach me to live, — no idler let me be. 
But in Thy service hand and heart 
employ ; 
Prepared to do Thy bidding cheerfully — 
Be this my highest and my holiest 
joy. 



IRoeemar^ auO IRue 323 

Teach me to live, my daily cross to bear, 
Nor murmur though I bend beneath 
its load, 
Only be with me ; let me feel Thee near. 
Thy smile sheds gladness on the dark- 
est road. 

Teach me to live and find my life in Thee, 
Looking from earth and earthly 
things away. 
Let me not falter, but untiringly 

Press on, and gain new power and 
strength each day. 

Teach me to live, with kindly words 
for all, 
Wearing no cold repulsive brow of 
gloom, 
Waiting with cheerful patience till Thy 
call 
Summons my spirit to her heavenly 
home. 



LIFE 

Life, I know not what thou art, 
But know that thou and I must part; 
And when, or how, or where we met, 
I own to me 's a secret yet. 
Life, we have been long together, 
Through pleasant and through cloudy 

weather ; 
'Tis hard to part when friends are dear, — 
Perhaps t' will cause a sigh, a tear; 
Then steal away, give little warning, 
Choose thine own time; 
Say not "Good night," — but in some 

brighter clime 
Bid me **Good morning." 

Mrs. Barbauld. 



324 



LIFE AND DEATH 

Life is not sweet. One day it will be 
sweet 

To shut our eyes and die: 

Nor feel the wild-flowers blow, nor birds 
dart by, 

With flitting butterfly, 

Nor grass grow long above our heads 
and feet ; 

Nor hear the happy lark that soars sky- 
high, 

Nor sigh that spring is fleet, and sum- 
mer fleet. 

Nor mark the waxing wheat, 

Nor know who sits in our accustomed 
seat. 

Life is not good. One day it will be 
good 

325 



326 1Ro0emarB anD IRue 

To die, then live again; 
To sleep meanwhile so not to feel the 

wane 
Of shrunk leaves dropping in the wood, 
No: hear the foamy lashing of the main, 
Noi mark the blackened bean-fields, nor, 
where stood 

Rich ranks of golden grain, 
Only dead refuse stubble clothe the 
plain: 

Asleep from risk, asleep from 
pain. 

Christina Rossetti. 



HOW 

How doth Death speak of our beloved? 
Love in Hfe should strive to see 
Sometimes what love in death would be. 

How doth Death speak of our beloved 
When it hath laid them low, 
When it hath set its hallowing touch 
On lip and cheek and brow ? 

It clothes their every gift and grace 
With radiance from the holiest place, 
With light as from an angel's face, 

Recalling with resistless force 
And tracing to their hidden source 
Deeds scarcely noticed in their course: 

This little loving fond device, 
That daily act of sacrifice, 
Of which too late we learn the price; 
327 



328 IRosemaii^ anD IRue 

Opening our weeping eyes to trace 
Simple, unnoticed kindnesses, 
Forgotten notes of tenderness, 

Which evermore to us must be 

Sacred as hymns in infancy, 

Learned, Hstening at a mother's knee. 

It sweeps their faults with heavy hand, 
As sweeps the sea, the trampled sand; 
It shows how such a vexing deed 
Was but a generous nature's weed, 
Or some choice virtue run to seed; 

How that small fretting carefulness 
Was but love's over-anxiousness, 
Which had not been had love been less. 

This failing at which we repined 
Was but a shadow o'er the mind. 
Which should have made us doubly 
kind. 

It takes each failing on our part, 
And brands it in upon the heart 
With caustic power, and cruel art. 



IRosemar^ anD IRue 329 

The small neglect that may have pained, 
A giant's stature will have gained, 
When it can never be explained. 

The little service which had proved 
How tenderly we watched and loved — 
And those mute lips to smiles had 
moved — 

The little gift from out our store, 
Which might have cheered some lonely 

hour, 
But never will be needed more: 

It shows our faults like fires at night. 

It sweeps their failures out of sight, 

It clothes their good with heavenly Hght. 

O Christ, our Life ! foredate the work 
of Death, and do this now! 

Thou, who art Love, thus hallow our 
beloved,^not Death, but Thou. 
Mrs. Charles. 



SHADOWLAND 

" Until the day break and the shadows flee 
away." Cant, ii., 17. 

Each heart has a haunted room, 
Where, amidst the hallowed gloom, 
Deep within its shelter laid, 
Dwell the memories of the dead. 
Sometimes in the twilight hours 
Shadowy lips seem pressed to ours; 
Sometimes, near th' unconscious head 
Footsteps all unearthly tread. 
Palms that in the years ago, 
Sought our own in weal or woe. 
Towards us stretch a waving hand, 
From that death-divided strand. 
Accents strangely sweet and clear, 
Silent many and many a year, 
In and out the wearied brain 

330 



IRosemar^ an& IRue 33^ 

Wander like a soft refrain, 
As the tones which gently sound, 
Fall and float on holy ground. 
Ah, this chamber in the breast 
Harbors many a longed-for guest: 
Some are young, and some are old; 
Some lie pale beneath the mould ; 
Yet, within this chamber door 
We can meet them all once more: 
Little hands so soft and clinginp^, 
Little voices blithe and ringing, 
Brows all bright with manhood's glory, 
Brows so patient, seamed and hoary; 
Lips on which the turf has lain, 
Whisper kindly words again; 
Eyes that scan yon angel bowers, 
Turn once more to answer ours ; 
Feet the waves of death have wet, 
Turn and walk beside us yet. 
While they in this chamber tread, 
We may hardly deem them dead. 
Called to earth from shadowland, 
Fresh and beautiful they stand: 
Buds that withered long ago 



332 iRoscmari? anD TRue 

JSeem once more to bloom and blow; 
Hopes so sweet they faded fast, 
Ere the morning's dews were past — 
Hopes, perchance, to blossom still 
In the land invisible. 
Seeds we watered oft with tears, 
Yield in those eternal years 
An unshaded world of bliss, 
Sought, but vainly sought, in this. 
Here on earth they had their root, 
There beyond they bear their fruit; 
Here the sowing and the weeping, 
There the harvest- tide and reaping; 
Here they faded like the leaves. 
There the Master binds the sheaves. 
Yes, this chamber in the breast 
Glows with many a wondrous guest, 
Tender gleams and glints that come 
From the many-mansioned home. 

Rev. Basil Edwards. 



WHOLLY RESIGNED. 

Christ leads us through no darker 
rooms 

Than He went through before, 
And he that to God's kingdom comes 

Must enter by this door. 
Come, Lord, when grace hath made me 
meet 

Thy blessed face to see, 
For if Thy work on earth be sweet, 

What will Thy glory be? 

Then shall I end my sad complaints, 

And weary sinful days, 
And join with the triumphant saints 

That sing Jehovah's praise. 
My knowledge of that life is small, 

The eye of faith is dim. 
But 't is enough that Christ knows all, 

And I shall be with Him. 

Richard Baxter. 

333 



MY TIMES ARE IN THY HAND. 

Psalm 31:15. 

Father, I know that all my life 

Is portioned out to me, 
And the changes that are sure to come 

I do not fear to see ; 
But I ask Thee for a present mind 

Intent on pleasing Thee. 

I ask Thee for a thankful love, 
Through constant watching vdse, 

To meet the glad vdth joyful smiles 
And to wipe the weeping eyes, 

And a heart at leisure from itself 
To soothe and sympathize. 

I would not have the restless will 

That hurries to and fro. 
Seeking for some great thing to do, 

334 



IRosemar^ anD IRue 335 

Or secret thing to know; 
I would be dealt with as a child, 
And guided where to go. 

Wherever in the world I am, 

In whatsoe'er estate, 
I have a fellowship with hearts 

To keep and cultivate; 
And a work of holy love to do 

For the Lurd on whom I wait. 

I ask Thee for the daily strength 

To none that ask denied ; 
And a mind to blend with outward life 

While keeping at Thy side; 
Content to fill a little space 

If Thou be glorified. 

And if some things I do not ask 

In my cup of blessings be, 
I would have my spirit filled the more 

With grateful love to Thee, — 
More careful than to serve Thee much 

To please Thee perfectly. 



336 IRosemar^ m\t> IRue 

There are briars besetting every path, 

That call for patient care; 
There is a crook in every lot, 

And a need for earnest prayer; 
But a lonely heart that leans on Thee 

Is happy everywhere. 

In a service that Thy love appoints 

There are no bonds for me. 
For my secret heart is taught the truth 

That makes Thy children " free " ; 
A.nd a life of self-renouncing love 

Is a life of liberty. 

Anna L. Waring 



AND THEN 

FEW more days of toil and strife, 
I And then 

I The rest and bliss of perfect life. 

A^few more days of worldly care, 

And then 
A crown of glory we shall wear. 

A few more days of poverty, 

And then 
The heavenly pastures, full and free. 

A few more days of earth's proud scorn, 

And then 
Sweet bloom, instead of piercing thorn. 

A few more days of darkling sight, 

And then 
The radiant burst of wondrous light. 

A few more days of wanderings vast, 

And then 
The blessed isles we find at last. 
22 337 



NEARER HOME 

One sweetly solemn thought 
Comes ^o me o'er and o'er — 

I am nearer home to-day 

Than I ever have been before: 

Nearer my Father's house 

Where the many mansions be; 

Nearer the great white throne, 
Nearer the crystal sea; 

Nearer the bound of life 

Where we lay our burdens down, 

Nearer leaving the cross, 
Nearer gaining the crown. 

But lying darkly between, 

Winding down through the night, 
Is the silent, unknown stream 

That leads at last to the light. 
338 



IRosemari^ and TRue 339 

Closer and closer my steps 

Come to the dark abysm; 
Closer death to my lips 

Presses the awful chrysm. 

Oh, if my mortal feet 

Have almost gained the brink — 
If it be I am nearer home, 

Even to-day than I think! 

Father, perfect my trust, 
Let my spirit feel in death 

That her feet are firmly set 
On the rock of a living faith. 

Phcebe Cary. 



CROSSING THE BAR. 

Sunset and evening star, 

And one clear call for me ! 
And may there be no moaning of the bar 

When I put out to sea, 

But such a tide as moving, seems asleep, 
Too full for sound and foam, 

When that which drew from out the 
boundless deep 
Turns again home. 

Twilight and evening bell, 

And after that the dark ! 
And may there be no sadness of farewell 

When I embark. 

For, though from out our bourne of 
Time and Place 

The flood may bear me far, 
I hope to see my Pilot face to face 

When I have crost the bar. 

Alfred Tennyson. 
340 



AN UNKNOWN GRAVE 

There is a little plot of ground, though 

where I cannot tell, 
But yet within its sheltering calm I 

think to slumber well. 
The sun shall shine, the sun shall set, the 

shadows rise and fall 
While I shall lie there hushed and still, at 

peace beyond them all. 

Perhaps amid the bright green fields this 

unknown spot may lie, 
Where some gray village spire uplifts the 

cross towards the sky; 
Or else within the busy haunts of toiling, 

striving men, 
The trampling of whose restless feet will 

not disturb me then. 
341 



342 IRosemari? anD TRue 

The pleasant breath of early spring may 

touch this plot of ground, 
Or autumn with her golden sheaves may 

spread her tints around, 
Or wintry clouds may hide the sky and 

tempest's voice may roar; 
But I shall be beyond the reach of storm 

forevermore. 

The matins of the joyous lark, the 

thrush''s evening song, 
The whispering of the twilight breeze, 

these sounds shall steal along ; 
And when the midnight bells ring out in 

tones so sweet and clear 
The chimings of the better land shall 

sound within mine ear. 

There is a spot — it is on high, I cannot 

tell you where, 
But oh, 't is in the light of God, and Jesus 

will be there; 
I cannot say how bright it is, or how its 

glories shine. 



TRosemarg anD IRiie 343 

But it has been prepared for me, and 
some day shall be mine. 

My very own, forevermore, for time and 

sin and death 
Have never touched this blessed spot 

with their polluting breath. 
The sands of time are v/et with tears, 

but those dear shores are bright. 
These toilwom feet shall tread them 

soon 'mid resurrection light. 

I cannot tell what gentle eyes from 

thence are gazing now; 
I cannot tell what rainbow hues throw 

halos round the brow; 
I may not know what accents make 

soft music on that air, 
Till time and tears and death are done 

and I myself am there. 

But yet, sweet home in Paradise, I greet 
thee from afar; 



344 'Rosemary an& IRuc 

Safe in thy calm, unruffled peace the 

dead in Jesus are. 
Fair harbor o'er the stormy sea, how 

bright thy light appears, 
Although we sometimes catch thy gleams 

behind a rain of tears. 

Rev. Basil Edwards. 

LOVE'S ETERNITY 

When love is new, and heart to heart 
Whispers of joys untried, divine, 
Before the dregs are in the wine, 
Or disillusion plays a part. 
Though life be brief, is it not true 
That love's eternal — when 'tis new? 

When love is old, and time has bred 
A callous tolerance in love's stead. 
Blest are the eyes whose clearer view 
Can see the wisdom of the whole, 
The deeper meaning of the soul, 
The love Eternal, — old or new. 

Daisy G. Low. 



AMEN 

I cannot say 
Beneath the pressure of life's cares 
to-day 

I joy in these; 
But I can say that I can walk this 
rugged way 

If Him it please. 

I cannot feel 
That all is well, when darkening clouds 
conceal 

The shining sun ; 
But then I know God lives and loves, 
and I can say 

"Thy will be done." 

I cannot speak 
In happy tones; the teardrops on my 
cheek 

345 



346 *Ko6cmari? an& IRue 

Show I am sad; 
But I can speak of grace to suffer with 
submission meek 

Until made glad. 

I do not see 
Why God should e'en permit some things 
to be 

When "He is love"; 
But I can see, though often dimly 
through the mystery 
His hand above. 

I do not know 
Where falls the seed that I have tried 
to sow 

With greatest care ; 
But I shall know the meaning of each 
waiting hour below, 

Sometime, somewhere. 

I do not look 
Upon the present, nor in nature's book, 
To read my fate. 



1R06cmarg an& "Rue 347 

But I do look for promised blessings in 
God's Holy Book, 
And I can wait. 

I may not try 
To keep the hot tears back, but hush 
that sigh 

" It might have been. " 
And try to still each rising murmur, and 
to God's sweet will 

Respond "Amen." 



THY WAY, NOT MINE, O LORD 

Thy way, not mine, O Lord, 

However dark it be. 
Lead me by Thine own hand. 

Choose out the path for me. 

Smooth let it be or rough, 
It will be still the best; 

Winding or straight, it leads 
Right onward to Thy breast. 



348 IRoBemarg aiiD TRue 

I dare not choose my lot; 

I would not, if I might; 
Choose Thou for me, my God; 

So shall I walk aright. 

The kingdom that I seek 

Is Thine, so let the way 
That leads to it be Thine, 

Else I must surely stray. 

Take Thou my cup, and it 

With joy or sorrow fill, 
As best to Thee may seem ; 

Choose Thou my good and ill. 

Choose Thou for me my friends, 
My sickness or my health; 

Choose Thou my cares for me, 
My poverty or wealth. 

Not mine, not mine the choice, 
In things or great or small ; 

Be Thou my guide, my strength. 
My wisdom, and my all. 

HORATIUS BONAR 



THE ETERNAL GOODNESS. 

I LONG for household voices gone, 
For vanished smiles I long; 

But God hath led my dear ones on, 
And He can do no wrong. 

I know not what the future hath 

Of marvel, or surprise, 
Assured alone that life and death 

His mercy underlies. 

And if my heart and flesh are weak 

To bear an untried pain, 
The bruised reed He will not break, 

But comfort, and sustain. 

No offering of my own I have, 
Nor works my faith to prove ; 

I can but give the gifts He gave, 
And plead His love for love. 
349 



350 IRoecmat^ anD "Rue 

And so beside the Silent Sea 

I wait the muffled oar; 
No harm from him can come to me, 

On ocean or on shore. 

I know not where His islands lift 
Their fronded palms in air; 

I only know I cannot drift 
Beyond His love and care. 

J. G. Whittier. 



DREAM-LAND 

Where sunless rivers weep 
Their waves into the deep, 
She sleeps a charmed sleep, 
Awake her not. 

Led by a single star, 
She came from very far 
To seek where shadows are 

Her pleasant lot. 

She left the rosy morn, 
She left the fields of com, 
For twilight, cold and lorn, 

And water-springs. 

Through sleep, as through a veil. 
She sees the skies look pale. 
And hears the nightingale, 

That sadly sings. 
351 



352 IRoscmari? anD IRue 

Rest, rest, a perfect rest. 
Shed over brow and breast; 
Her face is to the West, 

The purple land. 

She cannot see the grain 
Ripening on hill and plain; 
She cannot feel the rain 

Upon her hand. 

Rest, rest, forevermore 
Upon a mossy shore; 
Rest, rest at the heart core, 

Till time shall cease. 

Sleep that no pain shall wake, 
Night that no morn shall break. 
Till joy shall overtake 

Her perfect peace. 
Christina Rossetti. 



OUR REST 

A REST remains for us beyond earth's 
sadness, 
A calm, clear sky where clouds are 
never seen, 
A home above where life is perfect 
gladness, 
And every thought is bathed in joy 
serene. 

A rest in Heaven. Ah, ye who, bowed 
in sorrow. 
See only shadows gathering on life's 
sea, 
Look through your falling tears to that 
bright morrow, 
And think, oh, think how calm your 
rest will be! 
23 353 



354 TRosemari^ aiiD IRuc 

Think that your tears will then be dried 
forever; 
Think that your hearts will never- 
more grow sad; 
Think of the dear ones who will leave 
you never; 
Think, think of this, ye sorrowing, 
and be glad. 

No sin shall mar that rest; no stormy 
billow 
Shall fall and swell around that holy 
place; 
No weary head turn on a sleepless 
pillow; 
No aching heart is there, no tearful 
face. 

Ah, should we murmur so at what be- 
falls us? 
The Lord, who grieves us, knoweth 
what is best; 
By ever ouch of His just rod He calls 
us, 
And tells us softly this is not our rest. 



■Rosemary an& IRue 355 

Thrice blessed thought : He whispers to 
us ever 
Behind the clouds that hide Him from 
the world ; 
And rest remains for us, — a rest forever, 
Where death's dark banner is no more 
unfurled. 

Oh! let us then press on, with faith 
unfeigning, 
To that fair city, in the " Better land " 
With patient meekness, calm, and un- 
complaining, 
Until we mingle with the white-robed 
band. 

Beyond the storm a cloudless sky is 
shining, 
Above the cross is hung a starry 
crown ; 
Then let us wear life's thorns without 
repining, 
Till for eternal flowers we lay them 
down. 



MYSTERIES 

Shall we have a long way to go 

On the other side? 
To find the other friends that we know 

Do there abide? 

Shall we have a long time to wait 

Before they tell 
Of their happy and high estate 

Where all is well? 

Will they look from that heavenly 
height 

With tender eyes, 
Made clearer with love's great light 

And glad surprise? 

Will they speak with the same tone 
We loved to hear? 
356 



IRosemari^ anD TRue 357 

Shall we claim them and clasp our own, 
And keep them near? 

Will they ask how we have fared, 

On our lonely way, 
Of all we have done and dared, 

Through night and day? 

Will they tell what they have seen. 
Those wondering eyes? 

How happy the years have been. 
How glad, how wise? 

If we could only see and know! 

Lord, make us feel 
That the mysteries questioned so 

Thou wilt reveal. 

Caroline S. Le Bow. 



WAITING 

Lord of my nights and days, 

Let my desire be 
Not to be rid of earth, 

But nearer Thee. 

If I may nearer draw 

Through lengthened grief and pain 
Then to continue here 

Must be my gain : 

Till I have strengthened been 

To take a wider grasp 
Of that eternal Life 

I long to clasp ; 

Till I am so refined 

I can the glory bear 
Of that excess of joy 

I thirst to share. 

358 



IRoeemarg aiiD IRue 359 

Till I am meet to gaze 

On uncreated Light, 
Transformed, and perfected, 

By that new sight. 

Sorrow's long lesson o'er, 

Death's discipline gone through, 

Thou wilt unfold to me 
What joy can do. 

Glad souls are on the wing, 

From earth to Heaven they flee ; 

At last Thine hour will come 
To send for me. 

Reveal the mighty Love 

That binds Thy Heart to mine: 

Thy counsels and my will 
Should intertwine. 

Lord of my heart and hopes. 

Let my desire be 
Not to be rid of earth, 

But nearer Thee. 

C. M. Noel. 



SOUND SLEEP 

Some are laughing, some are weeping; 
She is sleeping, only sleeping. 
Round her rest wild flowers are creeping ; 
There the wind is heaping, heaping 
Sweetest sweets, of Summer's keeping, 
By the cornfields, ripe for reaping. 

There are lilies, and there blushes 
The deep rose, and there the thrushes 
Sing, till latest sunlight flushes 
In the west; a fresh wind brushes 
Through the leaves while evening hushes. 

There by day the lark is singing. 
And the grass and weeds are spring- 
ing 

360 



IRosemari? auD IRue 361 

There by night the bat is winging, 
There forever winds are bringing 
Far-off chimes of church-bells ringing. 

Night and morning, noon and even, 
Their sounds fill her dreams with Heaven. 
The long strife at length is striven; 
Till her grave-bands shall be riven 
Such is the good portion given 
To her soul at rest and shriven. 

Christina Rossetti 

WHEN BEAUTY DIES 

Should change fall in its fated hour, 
Should music cease, should darkness be, 
Should star and sun and face and flower 
Turn dust of beauty endlessly — 
Beloved, what of you and me? 

I question how by finer sense 
The soul adventures ways unknown, 
Or what shall be its recompense 
For death? What loveliness atone 
For earth's green glory sadly flown? 



362 IRoeemarg anO IRuc 

Yet, since I need not touch nor sight, 
Nor spoken word, however dear, 
To read your thought and will aright, 
To know your spirit, now and here. 
What has our fellowship to fear? 

Man's age-long doubt assails in vain 
The truth that lightens in your eyes, 
Or your still courage bred of pain: — 
Beyond the wreck of worlds and skies 
I shall seek these when beauty dies. 

Sophie Jewett. 



THE TWO MYSTERIES 

We know not what it is, dear, this sleep 

so deep and still, 
The folded hands, the awful calm, the 

cheek so pale and still. 
The lids that will not lift again tho' we 

may call and call, 
The strange white solitude of peace, 

which settles over all. 

We know not what it means, dear, this 

desolate heart-pain, 
This dread to take our weary way and 

walk in it again ; 
We know not to what other sphere the 

loved who leave us go, 
Nor why we *re left to wonder still, not 

why we do not know. 
363 



364 IRoeemari? aiiD TRuc 

But this we know: our loved and dead, 

if they could come this day, — 
Should come and ask us " What is life? " 

not one of us could say. 
Life is a mystery as deep as ever death 

can be. 
Yet, oh, how sweet it is to us, this life 

we live and see! 

Then might they say, those vanished 

ones — and blessed is the thought — 
*' So death is sweet to us, beloved, tho' 

we may tell thee naught. 
We may not tell it to the quick, this 

mystery of death. 
Ye may not tell us, if ye would, this 

mystery of breath." 

The child who enters life comes not with 

knowledge or intent; 
So those who enter death, must go as 

little children sent. 
Nothing is known, — but I believe that 

God is overhead, 
And as life is to the living, so death 

is to the dead. 



HOMEWARD 

To my beloved ones my steps are 
moving ; 
Not hard the road that leads to love 
and home; 
Have done my eyes, have done my 
feet with roving, 
'T is to the well-known gate I look 
and come. 

Your watch is now on the eternal 
mountains. 
Our eyes are gazing upward from afar 
Your rest is now by the clear-welling 
fountains. 
Ours is the journey still, the toil, and 
war. 

Years have gone by since the last 
words were spoken ; 
Oh, loved and saved, how gladly shall 
we meet, 

365 



366 IRosemari? anD IRuc 

In the home-city where no ties are 
broken, 
Where love is perfect, fellowship com- 
plete. 
I see your crowns, the wreaths which 
cannot wither. 
And from the city walls ye beckon 
me — 
Come up, and tarry not, oh, come up 
hither! 
To this dear land of light we welcome 
thee. 

Only a little while ; a little longer 

Of tarriance here upon these death- 
swept plains; 
Oh, well-beloved, death is growing 
stronger, 
And life more feeble, in these ebbing 
veins. 

To follow you each day we are preparing. 
And where you are, there we shall 
shortly be ; 

Death is to us but as an angel, bearing 
The keys of life, and immortality. 



1Ro6cmari2 anD IRue 367 

Yet not the less we sa3% 'Twere surely 
better 
That He should come and summon us 
away 
To meet Him in the sky ere yet the fetter 
Of dark corruption bind our crumb- 
ling clay. 

Then ye who slept, and we who know 
no sleeping, 
Should meet together, each to tell the 
tale; 
The tale of earthly weariness and 
weeping. 
The short, strange story of time's 
cloudy vale. 

Come then, Lord Jesus, come! Thy 
church is calling, 
The world is old, although the skies 
are blue: 
Its flowers are falling and its leaves 
ai'e fading — 
Come in Thy glory to make all things 
new. 

HoRATIUS BONAR. 



THROUGH PEACE TO LIGHT 

I DO not ask, Lord, that life may be 

A pleasant road, 
I do not ask that Thou wouldst take 
from me 

Aught of its load ; 
I do not ask that flowers should always 
spring 

Beneath my feet; 
I know too well the poison and the 
sting 

Of things too sweet. 

For one thing, Lord, dear Lord, I plead: 

Lead me aright, 
Tho' strength should falter and tho' heart 
should bleed. 

Through Peace to Light. 
368 



IRosemarg anD IRue 369 

I do not ask, O Lord, that Thou shouldst 
shed 

Full radiance here; 
Give but a ray of peace, that I may 
tread 

Without a fear. 

Better in darkness just to feel Thy hand 

And follow Thee. 
Joy is like restless day, — but peace 
divine 

Like quiet night: 
Lead me, O Lord, till perfect day shall 
shine, 

Through Peace to Light. 

Adelaide A. Procter. 



WAITING 

I AM watching and waiting to-night by 

the shore, 
In the gloaming which tells that the 

day's work is o'er, 
And the purples which gather afar o'er 

the lea. 
Are fringes of glory there waiting for 

me. 
Though weary the feet which have 

come to the tide, 
Long shall rest be, and sweet, on the 

farthermost side. 

All along the broad fields and on top 

of the hill 
Dark shadows of sorrow and care 

linger still; 

370 



1Ro0emar)5 anD IRue 371 

But the furrows if crooked are honest 

and true 
Of the ploughing the Master's hand gave 

me to do. 
No ploughing, no reaping, no shadows 

there be 
In the land on the calm other side of 

the sea. 

The voices of day in the twilight wax 

dim. 
Sighs, laughter and sobbing, plaint, 

pasan, or hymn; 
But I wait in the stillness a call that 

will come 
When the Master is ready to bid me 

come home — 
A voice whose low accents are sweeter 

to me 
Than all the glad sounds on this side 

of the sea. 

I wait, but in patience; I watch, but 
with cheer, 



372 IRosemars ant> IRuc 

Nor dare to say, "Quickly Lord Jesus, 

come here." 
There are hearts that will ache when 

that summons shall come. 
And shadows will dim the clear sunlight 

of home. 
Or it may be some pebble my hand 

must yet lay, 
In the temple of God ere the close of 

the day. 

So I fold my hands, to my heart say 

^'Be still," 
And, looking in trust to Thee, wait Thy 

will. 
Since living is Christ and dying is gain 
In living and dying alike is no pain. 
In the gloaming I 'm watching and 

waiting for Thee, 
Content with Thy presence both sides 

of the sea. 

M. E. WiNSLOW. 



GRANT US THY PEACE 

Only Thy peace. Our summer time 

is over, 
The days of dreaming and deUght are 

past, 
Heavy and chill the wintry shadows 

gather: 

One boon we crave, the sweetest, and 

the last. 

Grant us Thy peace. 

To others give the cup of joy, full- 
flowing, 
The bounding health, the strength for 

noble strife: 
We too have known the sunshine of 

Thy favor: 
Now in the storm and bitterness of life 
Grant us Thy peace. 
373 



374 IRoseman? atiD IRue 

The New Year comes, with festival and 

gladness ; 
In happy homes he sits, a smiling guest. 
But from his face we turn, in silent 

anguish, — 
We who have lost our sweetest and our 

best 

Grant us Thy peace. 

Thy peace. And by our desolate hearth 

shall linger 
A brightness to our summer days 

unknown: 
A gleam, reflected from that far-off 

portal 
Whither have fled our best-beloved, 

our own. 

Grant us Thy peace. 

It is enough: be this henceforth our 

portion, 
If less of earth, yet more of Heaven, and 

Thee, 
Until that hour of rapture and of 

triumph, 
When Thy beloved voice shall set us 

free — 

Grant us Thy peace. 



THE TRYST 

Farewell, beloved, we will not weep, 

'tis but a little while: 
When the snow is gone, I shall return 

with Spring's returning smile. 
Where the sunlight falls with shade and 

rain from hurrying clouds that weep, 
With naught between me and the sky, 

there lay me down to sleep. 
The place is known to you and me, nor 

needs it more should know, 
So raise no stone at head or feet, but let 

the wild flowers blow. 

And then some little part of me shall 
creep up through the mold, 

The brightness of my hair shall gleam 
from king-cups' hearts of gold, 

375 



376 IRosemarij anD IRue 

The blue that faded from my eyes will 

meet your eyes again, 
When little speedwells on my grave 

smile sweetly after rain. 
When the warm blood is frozen at my 

heart and on my lips, 
Kneel down above the dust and kiss the 

daisy's coral tips. 

And when from out the sunset a little 
breeze comes by, 

And a flush of deeper color steals across 
the upper sky ; 

When the beech leaves touch and trem- 
ble, whisper soft and then are still, 

And a bird hid in the thicket sings out, 
sudden, sweet, and shrill; 

When faint voices of the evening mur- 
mur peace across the land, 

And silver mists creep up and fold the 
woods on either hand; 

Or in the early morning when the world 
is yet asleep, 



1R09emari2 tint> TRuc 377 

And the dew lies white in all the shade 

where the grass is green and deep, 
You '11 find me there, love, waiting you, 

and you may smile and say: 
"I met my darling all alone at our old 

tryst to-day, 
I looked into her eyes so blue, I stroked 

her hair of gold. 
We kissed each other on the lips as in 

the days of old." 

It was her voice so low, so clear, that 

in mine ears did sound, — 
"Beloved, there's no such thing as 

death ; 't is life that I have found ; 
The life that thrills in leaf and flower, 

and fills the woods with song. 
That throbs in all the gleaming stars 

when winter nights are long, 
The life that passes with the winds from 

utmost shore to shore. 
Embracing all the mighty world, is 

mine forevermore. " 

Cornhill Mamzine. 



REST 

My feet are wearied and my hands are 
tired, 

My soul oppressed, 
And with desire have I long desired 

Rest, only rest. 

'T is hard to toil when toil is almost vain 

In barren ways; 
'T is hard to sow and never gamer grain 

In harvest days. 

The burden of my days is hard to bear, 
But God knows best; 

And I have prayed — but vain has been 
my prayer — 

For rest, sweet rest. 

'Tis hard to plant in spring and never 
reap 

The autumn yield; 
'Tis hard to till, and when 'tis tilled, to 
weep 

O'er fruitless field. 
37S 



IRosemars aiiD IRuc 379 

And as I cry a weak and human cry — 

So heart -oppressed; 
And as I sigh a weak and human sigh 

For rest, sweet rest, — 

My way has wound across the desert 
years, 

And cares infest 
My path; and through the flowing of 
hot tears, 

I pine for rest. 

'T was always so: when, still a child, I 
laid 

On mother's breast 
My wearied little head, e'en then I 
prayed, 

As now, for rest. 

And I am restless still. 'Twill soon 
be o'er. 

For down the west 
Life's sun is setting, and I see the shore, 
Where I shall rest. 

Father Ryan. 



THE OTHER SHORE 

What is it like — that other shore? 

Straining my eyes, I can but see 
Skies and ocean that evermore 

Embrace and hide the Beyond from me. 
Vainly I wish that an echoed note 

Of the song they sing on the other side 
Over the waters to me may float, 

As I wistfully listen and turn aside. 

My Father's house that I have not seen, 
Little I care what its beauties are, — 
Whether its hills are always green. 

Or the hills are golden that gleam afar; 
Only I know One waiteth there 

Whom my eyes have wearied long to 
see, 
And the country must needs be won- 
drous fair, 

380 



IRosemarB anO IRue 381 

Where Christ the Lord doth welcome 
me. 
What can I do but watch all day 

Ripples that lazily lap the shore, 
The unconscious children at their play, 

While I sit waiting forevermore? 
Waiting still at the waterside, — 

When will the boatman come for me, 
And bear me off on the flowing tide. 

To land where my best-beloved be? 

Nay, but my Father for me will send, 

When I have finished the task He gave ; 
When I have proved His child and 
friend, 

By the Christ-like spirit — meek, yet 
brave. 
Why should I list to the waves and sighs. 

Dreamily waiting for what delays? 
Let me rather with strength arise, 

And work for Him the remaining days. 



SATISFIED 

Not here, not here, not where the 
sparkling waters 
Fade into mocking sands as we draw 
near, 
Where in the wilderness each footstep 
falters, 
" I shall be satisfied, " but oh, not here! 

Not hers where all the dreams of bliss 
deceive us. 
Where the worn spirit never gains the 
goal, 
Where, haunted ever by the thoughts 
that grieve us. 
Across us floods of bitter memory roll. 



382 



IRoscmarg anO IRue 383 

There is a land where every pulse is 
thrilling 
With rapture Earth's sojourners may 
not know, 
Where Heaven's repose the weary heart 
is stilling, 
And peacefully life's time-tossed cur- 
rents flow. 



Far out of sight, though sorrows still 
enfold us. 
Lies the fair country where our hearts 
abide, 
And of its bliss naught is more wondrous 
told us 
Than these few words "I shall be 
satisfied. " 



•*I shall be satisfied." The spirit's 
yearning 
For sweet companionship with kindred 
minds. 



384 IRosemar^ aiiD IRue 

The silent love that here meets no 
returning, 
The inspiration which no language 
finds, 
Shall they be satisfied — the soul's vain 
longing. 
The aching void which nothing earthly 
fills? 
Oh, what desires upon my heart are 
thronging. 
As I look upward to the heavenly hills! 

Thither my weak and weary steps are 
tending, — 
Saviour and Lord, with Thy frail 
child abide. 
Guide me towards home, where, all my 
wanderings ending — 
I shall see Thee, and shall be satisfied. 

Lyra Anglicana. 



LIFE'S ANSWER 

I KNOW not if dark or bright 

Shall be my lot, 
If that wherein my hopes delight 

Be best or not. 

It may be mine to drag for years 

Toil's heavy chain; 
Or day and night my meat be tears 

On bed of pain. 

Dear faces may surround my hearth 

With smiles and glee ; 
Or I may dwell alone, and mirth 

Be strange to me. 

My bark is wafted to the strand 
By breath divine; 
25 385 



386 IRoacmarg anD IRuc 

And on the helm there rests a hand 
Other than mine. 

One who has known in storms to sail 

I have on board: 
Above the raging of the gale 

I hear my Lord. 

He holds me when the billows smite, 

I shall not fall. 
If sharp, 'tis short; if long, 'tis light; 

He tempers all. 

Safe to the land, safe to the land, — 

The end is this: 
And then with him go hand in hand, 

Far into bliss. 

Henry Alford. 



RECOMPENSE 

We are quite sure 

That He will give them back — bright, 

beautiful, and pure. 
We know He will but keep 
Our own and His until we fall asleep. 
We know He does not mean 
To break the strands reaching between 
The Here and There. 
He does not mean — though Heaven be 

fair — 
To change the spirits entering there, 

that they forget 
The eyes upraised and wet, 
The lips too still for prayer, 
The mute despair. 
He will not take 

The spirits which he gave, and make 
The glorified so new 
387 



388 IRoaemari? ant> IRue 

That they are lost to me and you. 

I do beUeve 

They will receive 

Us — you and me — -and be so glad 

To meet us, that when most I would 

grow sad, 
I just begin to think about that gladness, 
And the day 

When they shall tell us all about the way 
That they have learned to go — 
Heaven's pathways show. 
My lost, my own, and I 
Shall have so much to see together by 

and by, 
I do believe that just the same sweet face, 
But glorified, is waiting in the place 
Where we shall meet, if only I 
Am counted worthy in that by and by. 
I do believe that God will give a sweet 

surprise 
To tear-stained, saddened eyes, 
And that his Heaven will be 
Most glad, most tided through with joy 

for you and me, 



IRosemare anO IRue 389 

As we have suffered most. God never 

made 
Spirit for spirit, answering shade for 

shade, 
And placed them side by side — 
So wrought in one, though separate, 

mystified — 
And meant to break 
The quivering threads between. 
When we shall wake, 
I am quite sure we will be very glad 
That for a little while we were so sad." 

George Klingle. 



'TWILL NOT BE LONG 

'Twill not be long, — this wearying 
commotion 
That marks its passage in the human 
breast, 
And like the billows on the heaving 
ocean, 
That ever rock the cradle of unrest, 
Will soon subside; the happy time is 
nearing 
When bliss, not pain, shall have its 
rich increase ; 
E'en unto thee the dove may now be 
steering 
With gracious message "Wait, and 
hold thy peace. " 

'Twill not be long. 
390 



TRosemarB aiiD IRuc 391 

The lamps go out, the stars give up their 
shining ; 
The world is lost in darkness for a 
while ; 
And foolish hearts give way to sad 
repining, 
And feel as though they ne'er again 
could smile. 
Why murmur thus, the needful lesson 
scorning? 
Oh, read thy Teacher, and His word 
aright: 
The world would have no greeting for 
the morning. 
If 'twere not for the darkness of the 
night: 

'Twill not be long. 

'T will not be long, the strife will soon 

be ended; 
The doubts, the fears, the agony, the 

pain 
Will seem but as the clouds that low 

descended 



39^ IRoscmarg anD IRuc 

To yield their pleasure to the parched 
plain. 
The times of weakness and of sore 
temptation, 
Of bitter grief, and agonizing cry, 
These earthly cares, and ceaseless 
tribulations, 
Will bring a blissful harvest by and by ; 
'Twill not be long. 

'Twill not be long; the eye of faith, 
discerning 
The wondrous glory that shall be 
revealed, 
Instructs the soul that every day is 
learning 
The better wisdom which the world 
concealed. 
And soon, ay, soon there '11 be an end 
of teaching. 
When mortal vision finds immortal 
sight, 
And her true place the soul in gladness 
reaching 



IRosemars anO IRuc 393 

Beholds the glory of the Infinite: 
'Twill not be long. 

" 'Twill not be long," the heart goes 
on repeating; 
It is the burden of the mourner's song ; 
The work of grace in us He is com- 
pleting 
Who thus assures us "It will not be 
long. " 
His rod and staff our fainting steps 
sustaining, 
Our hope and comfort every day will 
be, 
And we may bear our cross as un- 
complaining 
As He who leads us unto Calvary. 
'T will not be long. 



so TIRED 

I AM so tired. 
The way is so dreary, 
So dark and shadowed by gloom, 
That now, faint, toil-worn and weary, 
I fain would rest in the tomb. 

I am so tired. 
I am weary of sorrow. 
Of grief, of pain, and of care, 
So tired that I would gladly to-morrow 
The rest of the glorified share. 

I am so tired. 
But duty is pressing 
Much work remains to be done 
Before I can hope for God's blessing. 
Or hear from Him a " Well done. " 



394 



"Roeemarg anD IRue 395 

I am so tired. 
But God in His kindness 
Will strengthen for all He may send; 
'T is needed, though now in my blindness 
I see not, — but shall in the end. 

I am so tired. 
But soon shall be lying 
At peace, with nothing to fear; 
The rest for which I am sighing 
I shall greet with a smile, not a tear. 

M. E. TOWNSEND. 



DOES THE ROAD LEAD UP HILL? 

Does the road wind up hill all the way? 
Yes, to the very end. 

So tired : I fain would rest. 
But, Lord, Thou knowest best, 

I wait on Thee. 
I will toil on from day to day. 
Bearing my cross, and only pray 

To follow Thee. 

So tired: my friends are gone, 
And I am left alone. 

And days are sad. 
Lord Jesus, Thou wilt bear my load 
Along this steep and weary road. 

And make me glad. 
396 



IRosemarg anD IRue 397 

So tired: my heart is low; 
Shadows of coming woe 

Around me fall, 
And memories of sins long wept, 
And hopes denied that long had slept, 

Arise, and call. 

So tired: yet I would work 

For Thee. Lord, hast Thou work 

Even for me? 
Small things, — which others hurrying on 
In Thy best service, swift and strong. 

Might never see. 

So tired: yet I might reach 
A flower to cheer and teach 

Some sadder heart; 
Or for parched lips perchance might 

bring 
One cup of water from the spring, 

Ere I depart. 

So tired: yet it were sweet 
Some faltering, tender feet 

To help and guide; 



398 1Ro0emars anD IRuc 

Thy little ones, whose steps are slow, 
I should not weary them I know, 

Nor roughly chide. 

vSo tired: Lord, wilt Thou come 
To take me to my home, 

So long desired? 
Only Thy grace and mercy send, 
That I may serve Thee to the end, 

Though I am tired. 

Christina Rossetti 



A LITTLE WAY 

A LITTLE way, — I know it is not far 

To that dear home where my beloved are. 

And yet my faith grows weaker, as I 

stand 
A lonely pilgrim, in a dreary land, 
Where present pain the future bliss 

obscures. 
And still my heart sits, like a bird, upon 
The empty nest, and mourns its treasures 

gone. 

Plumed for their flight. 
And vanished quite. 
Ah me! Where is the comfort? though 

I say, 
They have but journeyed on "a little 

way?" 

*' A little way " — at times they seem 

so near, 
Their voices ever murmur in my ear; 

To all my duties loving presence lend, 

399 



400 TRosemarg aiiD IRue 

And with sweet ministry my steps 

attend, 
And bring my soul the luxury of tears. 
' T was here we met and parted company. 
Why should their gain be such a grief 

to me? 

This sense of loss, 
This heavy cross — 
Dear Saviour, take the burden off, I 

pray, 
And show me Heaven is but "a little 

way." 
These sombre robes, these saddened 

faces, all 
The bitterness, the pain of death recall; 
Ah, let me turn my face where'er I may, 
I see the traces of a sure decay, 
And parting takes the marrow out of 

life. 
Secure in bliss we hold the golden chain, 
Which Death, with scarce a warning, 

snaps in twain. 

And nevermore. 
Shall time restore 



IRosemarg anD IRue 401 

The broken links ; 't was only yesterday 
They vanished from our sight "a little 
way." 

'* A little way." — This sentence I repeat, 
Hoping and longing to extract some 

sweet 
To mingle with the bitter; from Thy 

hand 
I take the cup I cannot understand, 
And in my weakness give myself to Thee. 
Although it seems so very, very far 
To that dear home where my beloved 

are, 

I know, I know 
It is not so; 
Oh, give me faith to feel it when I say 
That they are gone, — gone but "a 

little way." 



26 



THE LAND BEYOND THE SEA 

The land beyond the sea ! When will 

life's task be o'er? 
When shall we reach that soft blue 

shore, 
O'er the dark strait, whose billows foam 

and roar? 
When shall we come to thee, — calm land 

beyond the sea? 

The land beyond the sea ! How close it 

often seems 
When flushed with evening's peaceful 

gleams ; 
The wistful heart looks o'er the strait 

and dreams. 
And longs to fly to thee, — calm land 

beyond the sea. 
402 



IRogcmar^ anD IRue 403 

The land beyond the sea ! Sometimes 

distinct and near, 
It grows upon the eye and ear, 
And the gulf narrows to a thread-like 

mere; 
We seem half-way to thee, — calm land 

beyond the sea. 

The land beyond the sea ! Sometimes 

across the strait. 
Like drawbridge to a castle gate 
The slanting sunbeams lie, and seem 

to wait 
For us to pass to thee, — calm land 

beyond the sea. 

The land beyond the sea ! Oh, how the 

lapsing years, 
'Mid our not unsubmissive tears. 
Have borne, now singly, now in fleets, 

the biers 
Of those we love, to thee, — calm land 

beyond the sea. 

The land beyond the sea ! How dark 
our present home 



404 IRoscmarg anO IRue 

By the dull beach and sullen foam! 
How wearily, how drearily we roam, 
With arms outstretched to thee, — calm 
land beyond the sea. 

The land beyond the sea ! When will 

our toil be done? 
Slow-footed years, more swiftly run 
Into the gold of that unsetting sun. 
Home-sick we are for thee, — calm land 

beyond the sea. 

The land beyond the sea ! Why fadest 

thou in light? 
Why art thou better seen toward night? 
Dear land, look always plain, look 

always bright. 
That we may gaze on thee, — calm land 

beyond the sea. 

The land be3^ond the sea ! Sweet is 

thine endless rest: 

But sweeter far that Father's breast 

Upon thy shores eternally possessed: 

For Jesus reigns o'er thee, — calm land 

beyond the sea. 

F. W. Faber. 



OVER THE SEA 

I SIT in the fading light, 

And watch the shadows fall; 
My day has turned to night, 
And darkness covers all; 
The sunlight ' s gone far over the sea, 
But the morn will bring it back to me. 

My summer birds are gone ; 
I cannot hear them sing ; 
I missed them one by one, 
Till all had taken wing; 
My summer birds flew over the sea, 
But the spring will call them back to me. 

My summer flowers are dead, 

The jasmine and the rose; 

The autumn leaves are shed, 

And buried in the snows; 

But the flowers are blooming over the sea. 

And the spring will bring them back to 

me. 

405 



4o6 IRoeemarB anD IRuc 

My darling child has passed 
Up to the Promised Land; 
The anchor she has cast 

Away on the golden strand; 
But I shall follow over the sea, 
And Heaven will give her back to me. 

BEYOND 

Beyond life's toils and cares, 
Its hopes and joys, its weariness and 

sorrow. 
Its sleepless nights, its days of smiles 

and tears, 
Will be a long, sweet life, unmarked 
by years, 

One bright, unending morrow. 

Beyond time's troubled stream, 
Beyond the chilling waves of death's 

dark river. 
Beyond life's lowering clouds and fitful 

gleams. 
Its dark realities and brighter dreams, — 
A beautiful forever. 



IRosemars anD TRue 407 

No aching hearts are there, 
No tear-dimmed eye, no form by sick- 
ness wasted. 
No cheek grown pale through penury 

or care. 
No spirits crushed beneath the woes 
they bear, 

No sighs for bUss untasted. 



No sad farewell is heard. 
No lonely wail for loving ones departed; 
No dark remorse o'er memory there is 

stirred, 
No smile of scorn, no harsh or cruel word. 
To grieve the broken-hearted. 

No long dark night is there, 
No light from sun or silvery moon is 

given, 
But Christ, the Lamb of God, all bright 

and fair. 
Illumes the city with effulgence rare, 

The glorious Light of Heaven. 



4o8 fRoBcmtit^ and 1Rue 

No mortal eye hath seen 
The glories of that land beyond that 

river; 
Its crystal lakes, its fields of Uving green, 
Its fadeless flowers, and the unchanging 
sheen 

Around the throne forever 

Ear hath not heard the song 
Of rapturous praise within that shining 

portal ; 
No heart of man hath dreamed what 

joys belong 
To that redeemed and happy blood- 
washed throng. 

All glorious and immortal. 



O JESUS MERCIFUL 

O, Jesus merciful, bend down 

In Thy compassion deep, 
As sleepless and alone I lie, 

And watch beside me keep. 

There is a holier, sweeter rest 
Than the lulling of this pain, 

And a deeper clam than that which sleep 
Sheds over heart and brain. 

It is the soul's surrendered choice 

The settling of the will. 
Lying down gently on the cross, 

Thy purpose to fulfil. 

For this I need Thy presence, Lord, 

My hand held close in Thine; 
Infuse now through my spirit faint 
An energy divine. 

409 



4IO IRosemar^ an& IRuc 

Feed me with love, imprint on me 

Thine awful kiss of peace: 
Let me lie still upon Thy breast 

Nor struggle for release. 

And sanctify my weakness, Lord: 

Nature's extreme distress 
Is just the time when it may lean? 

God's glory to express. 

Stamp in, O God, at any cost 

The likeness of Thy Son ; 
Filial submission to Thy will 

Is Heaven itself begun. 

C. M. Noel. 



WHEN 

If I were told that I must die to-mor- 
row — 

That the next sun 
Which sinks should bear me past all 
sin, and sorrow 
For any one, 
All the fight fought, all the short 
journey through, — 

What should I do? 

I do not think that I should shrink or 
falter 

But just go on 
Doing my work, nor change, nor seek 
to alter 

Aught that is gone, 
But rise, and love, and move, and 
smile, and pray. 

For one more day. 
411 



412 TRosemarg anD TRue 

And lying down at night for a last 
sleeping, 

Say in that ear 
Which hearkens ever, "Lord, within 
Thy keeping 

How should I fear? 
And when to-morrow brings Thee nearer 
still 

Do Thou Thy will." 

I might not sleep for awe, but peaceful, 
tender, 

My soul should lie 
All the night long, and when the morn- 
ing's splendor 

Flushed o'er the sky, 
I think that I could smile and calmly 
say, 

"It is His day." 

But if, instead, a hand from the blue 
yonder 

Held out a scroll 



IRosemarg anD IRue 413 

On which my life was writ, and I with 
wonder 

Beheld unroll 
To a long century's end its mystic clew, 

What should I do? 



What could I do, O blessed Guide and 
Master, 

Other than this — 
Still to go on as now, not slower, faster, 

Nor fear to miss 
The road, although so very long it be, 

While led by Thee? 



Step after step, feeling Thee close beside 
me 

Although unseen, 
Through thorns, through flowers — 
whether the tempest hide Thee, 
Or heavens serene — 
Assured Thy faithfulness cannot betray, 
Thy love decay. 



414 IRodemars anO IRue 

I may not know, my God, no hand 
revealeth 

Thy councils wise, 
Along the path a deepening shadow 
stealeth ; 

No voice replies 
To all my questioning thought the 
time to tell. 

And it is well. 

Let me keep on, abiding and unf earing 

Thy will always. 
Through a long century's ripening 
fruition, 

Or a short day's. 
Thou canst not come too soon; and I 
can wait 

If Thou come late. 

Susan Coolidge. 



SLEEP 

"So he giveth his beloved sleep." 

Psalms, cxxvii, 2. 

He sees when their footsteps falter, when 

their heart grows weak and faint, 
He marks when their strength is failing, 

and listens to each complaint; 
He bids them rest for a season, for the 

pathway has grown too steep; 
And, folded in fair green pastures, He 

giveth His loved ones sleep. 

Like weary and worn-out children, that 

sigh for the daylight's close, 
He knows that they oft are longing for 

home and its sweet repose; 
So He calls them in from their labors, ere 

the shadows around them creep, 
And silently watching o'er them, He 

giveth His loved ones sleep. 
415 



4i6 IRoacmari? aiiD TRue 

He giveth it, Oh, so gently, as a mother 

will hush to rest 
The babe that she softly pillows so 

tenderly on her breast; 
Forgotten are now the trials and sorrows 

that made them weep; 
For with many a soothing promise He 

giveth His loved ones sleep. 

He giveth it. Friends, the dearest, can 

never this boon bestow; 
But He touches the drooping eyelids, and 

placid the features grow; 
Their foes may gather about them and 

storms around them sweep. 
But guarding them safe from danger, He 

giveth His loved ones sleep. 

All dread of the distant future, all fears 

that oppress to-day, 
Like mists that clear in the sunlight, 

have noiselessly passed away; 
Nor call nor clamor can rouse them 

from slumbers so pure and deep, 



TRosemarg anD IRue 417 

For only His voice can reach them, 
who giveth His loved ones sleep. 

Weep not that their toils are over; weep 

not that their race is run. 
God grant we may rest as calmly, when 

our work like theirs is done. 
Till then we would yield with gladness 

our treasures to Him to keep, 
And rejoice in the sweet assurance, He 

giveth His loved ones sleep. 

Golden Hours . 



27 



REQUIESCAT 

Strew on her roses, roses, 
And never a spray of yew. 

In quiet she reposes: 

Ah, would that I did too! 

Her mirth the world required; 

She bathed it in smiles of glee. 
But her heart was tired, tired. 

And now they let her be. 

Her life was turning, turning, 
In mazes of heat and sound; 

But for peace her soul was yearning, 
And now peace laps her round. 

Her cabin 'd, ample spirit. 

It flutter 'd and fail 'd for breath. 
To-night it doth inherit 

The vasty hall of Death. 

Matthew Arnold. 
418 



REST 

O Earth, lie heavily upon her eyes; 
Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching, 

Earth; 
Lie close around her; leave no room 
for mirth 
With its harsh laughter, nor for sound 

of sighs. 
She hath no questions, she hath no 
replies, 
Hush 'd in and curtain 'd with a blessed 

dearth 
Of all that irk 'd her from the hour of 
birth ; 
With stillness that is almost Paradise. 
Darkness more clear than noonday hold- 
eth her. 
Silence more musical than any song; 
Even her very heart has ceased to stir: 

Until the morning of Eternity 
Her rest shall not begin nor end, but be; 
And when she wakes she will not 
think it long. 

Christina Rossetti. 
419 



SONG 

When I am dead, my dearest 

Sing no sad songs for me; 
Plant thou no roses at my head, 

Nor shady cypress tree: 
Be the green grass above me, 

With showers and dewdrops wet; 
And if thou wilt, remember, 

And if thou wilt, forget. 

I shall not see the shadows, 

I shall not feel the rain; 
I shall not hear the nightingale 

Sing on as if in pain; 
And, dreaming through the twilight 

That doth not rise nor set. 
Haply I may remember. 

And haply may forget. 

Christina Rossetti 
420 



ECHO 

Come to me in the silence of the night, 
Come in the speaking silence of a dream ; 
Come with soft rounded cheeks, and eyes 
as bright 
As sunlight on a stream. 
Come back in tears, 
O memory, hope, love, of finished years. 

O dream, how sweet, too sweet, too 

bitter-sweet, 
Whose waking should have been in 

Paradise, 
Where souls brim-full of love abide and 
meet; 
Where thirsting, longing eyes 
Watch the slow door 
That, opening, letting in, lets out no more. 

Yet, come to me in dreams, that I may 

live 
My very life again; though cold in death 
Come back to me in dreams, that I may 

give 

421 



422 IRoscmarg aiiD IRue 

Pulse for pulse, breath for breath. 
Speak low, — lean low. 
As long ago, my love, — how long ago. 

Christina Rossetti. 

SEXAGESIMA 

When Grief shall come to thee, 

Think not to flee. 
For Grief with steady pace 

Will win the race; 
Nor crowd her forth with mirth, 

For at thy hearth 
When Mirth is tired and gone 

Win Grief sit on. 

But make of her thy friend, 

And in the end 
Her counsels will grow sweet, 

And with swift feet 
Three, lovelier than she 

Will come to thee, — ■ 
Calm Patience, Courage strong, 

And Hope, — ere long. 

Henrietta B. Elliot. 



LOVE'S MEASURE 

How do I love thee? Let me count the 
ways: 

I love thee to the depth, and breadth, 
and height 

My soul can reach, when feeling out of 
sight 

For the ends of being, and ideal grace. 

I love to the level of every day's 

Most quiet need, by sun and candle light. 

I love thee freely as men strive for right ; 

I love thee purely, as they turn from 
Praise. 

I love thee with the passion put to use 

In my old griefs, and with my child- 
hood 's faith. 

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 

With my lost saints, — I love thee with 
the breath, 

423 



424 IRosemarij anO TRue 

Smiles, tears, of all my life ! — and if 

God choose, 
I shall but love thee better after death. 

Mrs. E. B. Browning. 



THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE 

Beside the toilsomie way 
Lonely and dark, by fruits and flowers 

unblest. 
Which my worn feet tread sadly, day 
by day 
Longing in vain for rest, 

An angel softly walks 
With pale sweet face, and eyes cast 

meekly down, 
The while from withered leaves and 
flowerless stalks 
She weaves my fitting crown. 

A sweet and patient grace, 
A look of firm endurance, true and tried, 



IRosemar^ anD IRue 425 

Of suffering meekly borne, rests on her 
face, 
So pure and glorified. 

And when my fainting heart 
Desponds, and murmurs at its adverse 

fate, 
Then quietly the angel's bright lips part. 

Whispering softly, "Wait." 

"Patience," she sweetly saith, 
"The Father's mercies never come too 

late; 
Gird thee with patient strength and 
trusting faith, 
And firm endurance: wait." 

Angel, behold, I wait. 
Wearing the thorny crown through all 

life's hours; 
Wait till thy hand shall ope the eternal 
gate, 
And change the thorns to flowers. 



SCHOOL-LIFE 

I SAT in the school of sorrow, 
The Master was teaching there; 

But my eyes were dimmed with weeping, 
And my heart was full of care. 

Instead of looking upward, 
And seeing His face divine, 

So full of the tenderest pity 
For weary hearts like mine, 

I only thought of the burdens, 
The cross that before me lay, 

So hard and heavy to carry 

That it darkened the light of day. 

So I could not learn my lesson 
And say "Thy will be done"; 

And the Master came not near me 
As the dreary hours went on. 
426 



•Roaemarg atiD IRuc 427 

At last in my weary sorrow 

I looked from my cross above, 

And I saw the Master watching 
With a glance of tender love. 

He turned to the cross before me, 
And I thought I heard Him say: 

"My child, thou must bear thy burden, 
And learn thy task to-day. 

"I may not tell the reason, 
'Tis enough for thee to know 

That I the Master am teaching, 
And give this cup of woe." 

So I stooped to that weary sorrow. 

One look at that face divine 
Had given me power to trust Him 

And say "Thy will, not mine." 

And thus I learned my lesson, 
Taught by the Master alone; 

He only knows the tears I shed, 
But He has wept His own. 



428 IRosemari? aiiD IRue 

And through them comes a brightness, 
Straight from the home above, 

Where the school-Hfe will be ended, 
And the cross will show the love. 



HIS JEWELS 

In the hush and gray of the twilight, 
Looking out o'er a shadowy sea, 

Half way between musing and dreaming, 
In a vision it cometh to me, — 

When the Lord maketh up His jewels. 
What some of my friends will be. 

One keeps in her loving compassion 
Wide room for all under the sun; 

White hands of strong help she out- 
stretcheth, 
To captive and poor and undone: 

I know she will shine as a Ruby 
On the breast of the crucified One. 

Another some wonderful angel 

In passing ; has brushed with his wing ; 



IRosemar^ an& IRue 429 

Her touch has the magic creative, 
Her words can both sparkle and sing: 

As a Diamond catching the sunHght 
She will answer the smile of the King. 

Still another so richly is colored, 

Through passion, and longing and pain, 

Through the darkness of deep desolation, 
The pitilessness of rain, 

I know I shall see her as Amber 
In the robe of the Lamb that was slain. 

As a priestess of song one abideth 
In her place by the altar's side, 

And the wine of rich melody poureth, 
The bread of sweet hymns doth divide : 

I think as a Sapphire most precious 
She will deck the pure brow of the 
Bride. 

Deep under her smile this one presseth 
Such pain of bereavement down, 

Such travail of exquisite genius, 
Such rustling of hopes that are brown. 

As an Opal for inwardly burning, 
She will shine in her Master's crown. 



430 IRosemarg anO IRue 

So still and so holy, this other 

The darkest of pathways has trod, 

Yet stained no white hem of her garment 
(Lie softly upon her, O sod,) — 

Methinks as a Pearl that is precious 
She will rest on the bosom of God. 

One's soul is an Amethyst tender, 
One seemeth an Emerald rare; 

And one in the likeness of Jasper 
Of a truth is surpassingly fair: 

They will shine as the stars, and forever, 
In the robe which the Bridegroom doth 
wear. 

O friends, I am glad in your glory; 

To your preciousness I am made free; 
But why are my longing eyes holden 

From seeing what cometh to me? 
Yet if I with His jewels am numbered 

What matters it which I shall be? 

The stars have a different brightness, 
Yet each on the other doth shine: 



•Ro0cmaci? an& IRue 431 

All joy in the brilliant resplendence, 
None thinketh of * ' thine' ' or of " mine ' ' ; 

All know that the source of their glory, 
O Sun of the Kingdom, is Thine. 

W. M. L. Day. 

THE SOUL'S PARTING 

She sat within Life's Banquet Hall at 

noon 
When word was brought unto her se- 
cretly 
"The Master cometh onward quickly; 

soon 
Across the threshold He will call for 

thee." 
Then she rose up to meet Him at the 

door, 
But, turning, courteous, made a farewell 

brief 
To those that sat around. From Care 

and Grief, 
She parted first: "Companions sworn 

and true 



432 IRosemari? anO IRiie 

Have ye been ever to me, but for friends 
I knew you not till later, and did miss 
Much solace through that error ; let this 

kiss. 
Late-known and prized, be taken for 

amends. 
Thou too, kind constant Patience, with 

thy slow. 
Sweet counsels aiding me ; I did not know 
That ye were angels until ye displayed 
Your wings for flight; now bless me." 

But they said, 
"We blest thee long ago." 

Then turning unto twain 
That stood together, tenderly and oft 
She kissed them on the forehead, whis- 
pering soft: 
"Now must we part; yet leave me not 

before 
Ye see me enter safe within the door, 
Kind bosom-comforters, that by my side 
The darkest hour found ever closest bide. 
A dark hour waits me ere forevermore 
Night with its heaviness be overpast; 



•Roeemarg anD IRue 433 

Stay with me till I cross the threshold 

o'er!" 

But giving both her hands 
To one that stood the nearest: "Thou 

and I 
May pass together; for the holy bands 
God knits on earth are never loosed on 

high. 
Long have I walked with Thee; Thy 

name arose 
E'en in my sleep, and sweeter than the 

close 
Of music was Thy voice ; for Thou wert 

sent 
To lead me homeward from my banish- 
ment 
By devious ways; and never hath my 

heart 
Swerved from Thee, though our hands 

were wrung apart 
By spirits sworn to sever us; above, 
Soon shall I look upon Thee as Thou art. " 
So she crossed o'er with Love. 

Dora Greenwell. 
28 



GOD'S ANVIL 

Pain's furnace heat within me quivers, 
God's breath upon the flame doth blow, 

And all my heart in anguish shivers. 
And trembles at the fiery glow; 

And yet I whisper, "As God will," 

And in His hottest fire hold still. 

He comes and lays my heart all heated 
On the hard anvil, minded so 

Into His own fair shape to beat it 
With His great hammer, blow on blow ; 

And yet I whisper, "As God will," 

And at His heaviest blows hold still. 

He takes my softened heart and beats it: 
The sparks fly off at every blow; 

He turns it o'er and o'er and heats it, 

And lets it cool and makes it glow. 

434 



IRogcmarg anD IRuc 435 

And yet I whisper, "As God will," 
And in His mighty hand hold still. 

Why should I murmur ? for the sorrow 
Thus only longer-lived would be; 

Its end may come, and will, to-morrow, 
When God has done His work in me; 

So I say, trusting, "As God will," 

And trusting to the end hold still. 

He kindles for my profit purely 
Affliction's glowing, fiery brand, 

And all His heaviest blows are surely 
Infiicted by a Master-hand; 

So I say, praying, "As God will," 

And hope in Him and suffer still. 

Julius Sturm. 
Tr. by Charles T Brooks. 



A SHADOW 

There is a shadow standing by the cradle 
Where sleepeth softly a beloved child; 
It waiteth anxious at the gayest feasting 
And mocks our laughter with its laughter 

wild. 
It standeth by our bedside, by our table, 
And with its touch the present is defiled. 

It jeers our faint attempts to be forgetful. 

Slanting its fleshless body at the dance; 

Joins all our pleasures, shading them 
with promise 

That soon its claims it will in truth 
advance. 

We dare it for a while, then pray in an- 
guish 

That it will haste to throw its poisoned 
lance. 

436 



lR06cmari2 anO IRue 437 

And yet it doth defer its blow. Ah, 
surely 

Those have the best that follow it the 
first; 

So shall they never see their dearest 
perish. 

Going one's self is surely not the worst. 

'T is those that live beyond their best 
and dearest 

Who really feel that Death's a thing ac- 
cursed. 



SORROW 

Upon my lips vshe laid her touch divine, 
And merry speech and careless laugh- 
ter died: 

She fixed her melancholy eyes on mine, 
And would not be denied. 

I saw the West-wind loose his cloudlets 
white, 
In flocks careering through the April 
sky; 
I could not sing, though joy was at its 
height. 
For she stood silent by. 

I watched the lovely evening fade away, 
A mist was lightly drawn across the 
stars ; 
She broke my quiet dream, — I heard 
her say, 
"Behold your prison bars." 
438 



IRoscmar^ anD IRue 439 

"Earth's gladness shall not satisfy your 
soul, 
This beauty of the world in which 
you live: 
The crowning grace, that sanctifies the 
whole, — • 
That I alone can give." 
I heard, and shrunk away from her, 
afraid, 
But still she held me and would still 
abide ; 
Youth's bounding pulses slackened, and 
obeyed. 
With slowly ebbing tide. 

"Look thou beyond the evening sky" 
she said, 
"Beyond the changing splendors of 
the day; 
Accept the pain, the weariness, the 
dread, — 
Accept, and bid me stay." 

I turned and clasped her close, with 
sudden strength. 



440 IRogemars anD IRue 

And slowly, sweetly, I became aware 
Within my arms God's angel stood at 
length, 
White-robed, and calm, and fair. 

And now I look beyond the evening star, 
Beyond the changing splendors of the 
day, 
Knowing the pain He sends more pre- 
cious far, 
More beautiful than they. 

Celia Thaxter. 



HEART VENTURES 

I STOOD and watched my ships go out, 
Each, one by one, unmooring free, 

What time the quiet harbor filled 
With flood-tide from the sea. 

The first that sailed, her name was Joy; 

She spread a full, white, ample sail, 
And eastward drove with bending spars 

Before the singing gale. 

Another sailed, her name was Hope; 

No cargo in her hold she bore. 
Thinking to find in western lands 

Of merchandise a store. 

The next that sailed, her name was Love; 

She showed a red flag at the mast, — 
A flag as red as blood she showed, 

And she sped south, right fast. 
441 



442 1Ro0cmar\? aiiD IRuc 

The last that sailed, her name was Faith ; 

Slowly she took her passage forth, 
Tacked, and lay to ; at last she steered 

A straight course for the north. 

My gallant ships, they sailed away, 
Over the shimmering summer sea. 

I stood at watch for many a day: — 
But one came back to me. 

For Joy was caught by Pirate Pain; 

Hope ran upon a hidden reef, 
And Love took fire and foundered fast. 

In whelming seas of grief. 

Faith came at last: storm-beat and torn, 
She recompensed me all my loss, 

For as a cargo safe she brought 
A crown linked to a cross. 

The Boston Cultivator. 



PATIENT 

I WAS not patient in that olden time 
When my unchastened heart began 
to long 
For bliss that lay beyond its reach; my 
prime 
Was wild, impulsive, passionate, and 
strong. 
I could not wait for happiness and love, 
Heaven-sent, to come and nestle in 
my breast; 
I could not realize how time might prove 
That patient waiting would avail me 
best. 

" Let me be happy now, " my heart cried 

out, 

"In mine own way, and with my 

chosen lot; 

The future is too dark and full of doubt 

For me to tarry, and I trust it not; 

443 



444 IRoscmarg anO IRue 

Take all my blessings, all I am and have, 
But give that glimpse of Heaven before 
the grave. ' ' 

Ah me! God heard my wayward selfish 
cry, 
And, taking pity on my blinded heart. 
He bade the angel of strong grief draw 
nigh, 
Who pierced my bosom, in its tenderest 
part. 
I drank wrath's wine-cup to the bitter 
lees. 
With strong amazement and a broken 
will; 
Then, humbled, straightway fell upon 
my knees, — 
And, God doth know, my heart is 
kneeling still. 

I have grown patient; seeking not to 
choose 
Mine own blind lot, but take what God 
shall send. 



IRosemarB anD IRue 445 

In which, if what I long for I should 
lose, 
I know the loss will work some blessed 
end, — 
Some better fate for mine and me than I 
Could ever compass underneath the sky. 
All The Year Round. 



HOMESICK 

" Blessed are they who are homesick, for 
they shall come at last to their Father's 
house." 

Not as you meant, learned man and 

good, 
Do I accept thy words of truth and rest ; 
God, knowing all, knows what for me is 

best 
And gives me what I need, not what He 

could, 

Nor always what I would. 

I shall go to my Father's house, and see 
Him and the Elder Brother, face to face; 



446 IRofiemarg anO IRue 

What day or hour I know not ; — let me be 

Steadfast in work, and earnest in the 
race; 

Not as a homesick child, who all day- 
long 

Whines at his play and seldom speaks in 
song. 

If for a time some loved one goes away, 
And leaves us our appointed work to do, 
Can we to him or to ourselves be true. 
In mourning his departure day by day. 
And so our work delay? 

Nay, if we love and honor, we shall make 
The absence brief, by doing well our task, 
Not for ourselves, but for the dear one's 

sake. 
And at His coming, only of Him ask 
Approval of the work, which most was 

done 
Not for ourselves, but our beloved one. 

Our Father's house is broad and grand, 
In it how many, many mansions are ! 



IRoBcmarB aiiC) IRuc 447 

And far beyond the light of sun or star, 
Many loved ones of mine through that 
fair land 

Are walking hand in hand. 

Think you I loved not, — or that I 

forget 
Those of my kindred? — still, the world 

is fair. 
And I am smiling, while my eyes are wet 
With weeping, in this summer air; 
Yet I 'm not homesick, — for my dear 

ones here 
Have need of me, and so my way is 

clear. 

A. D. F. Randolph. 



EVERY YEAR 

Life is a count of losses 

Every year; 
For the weak are heavier crosses 

Every year; 
Lost springs with sobs replying 
Unto weary autumns sighing, 
While those we love are dying 

Every year. 

The days have less of gladness 

Every year, 
The nights more weight of sadness 

Every year; 
Fair springs no longer charm us, 
The winds and weather harm us, 
The threats of death alarm us 

Every year. 
448 



IRosemarg anD IRuc 449 

There come new cares and sorrows 

Every year, 
Dark days and darker morrows 

Every year; 
The ghosts of dead loves haunt us, 
The ghosts of changed friends taunt us, 
And disappointments daunt us, 

Every year. 

To the past go more dead faces 

Every year, 
As the loved leave vacant places 

Every year; 
Everywhere the sad eyes meet us. 
In the evening's dusk they greet us, 
And to come to them entreat us, 

Every year. 

" You are growing old," they tell us, 

" Every year; 
You are more alone," they tell us, 

" Every year; 
You can win no new affection, 



450 TRosemarg aiiD TRue 

You have only recollection, 
Deeper sorrow and dejection 
Every year." 

Too true, — life's shores are shifting 

Every year, 
And we are seaward drifting 

Every year; 
Old places changing fret us, 
The living more forget us, 
There are fewer to regret us 

Every year. 

But the truer life draws nigher 

Every year, 
And its morning star climbs higher 

Every year; 
Earth's hold on us grows slighter. 
And the heavy burden lighter. 
And the dawn immortal brighter 

Every year. 

Gen. Albert Pike. 



RECKONING 

What art thou doing with thy Hfe, 

O thou of many gifts ? 
Is thine a nature that inspires, 

And comforts, and uphfts? 
Do those in trouble think of thee 

As of a precious balm? 
And does thy presence lull the storm, 

Till it becomes a calm? 

What art thou doing with thy life? 

'Twas meant for others' use, 
And awful is the reckoning 

For waste and for abuse. 
Better to use one talent well 

Than to misuse the ten; 
The smile of God is recompense 

For all the scorn of men. 
451 , 



452 IRosemarg aiiD IRue 

What art thou doing with thy Hfe? 

Up and be doing, friend. 
The days and nights and months and 
years 

Our God doth only lend. 
If time were all our own, what then? 

It might be freely spent: 
But it is borrowed, — and 't is theft 

To squander what is lent. 

What art thou doing with thy life? 

It is already noon: 
The evening shadows are not far. 

The night-time will come soon. 
And to the Master we must go 

At setting of the sun. 
To hear Him say how our day's work 

Has in His sight been done. 

Mary Cram. 



ONE OF THREE 

I AM not quite alone, she said, 
I have fair daughters three, 

And one is dead, and one is wed, 
And one remains with me. 

Awhile I watch with tenderest care 
Her growth, from child to maid, 

And plait her fair and shining hair 
A long and golden braid, 

(Ah, sweet the bloom upon the grape 

Before it leaves the vine) 
And deck and drape her dainty shape 

With garments soft and fine ; 

And keep her sacred and apart. 

Until some stranger's plea. 
With flattering art, shall win her heart 

Away from home and me, 
453 



454 IRosemari^ anD IRue 

Leaving her childhood's home and me 

Forgotten and bereft; 
Then there will be, of all my three, 

Only the dead one left. 

Why count the dead as lost? Ah me! 

I keep my dead alone ; 
For only she of all the three 

Will always be my own. 

She will not slight at morn or eve 

The old love for the new. 
The living leave our hearts to grieve— 

The dead are always true. 

Harper's Magazine. 



LARV^ 

My little maiden of four years old — 
No myth, but a genuine child is she, 

With her bronze brown eyes and her 
curls of gold — 
Came quite in disgust one day to me. 

Rubbing her shoulder with rosy palm, 
As the loathsome touch seemed yet to 
thrill her, 
She cried, "O Mother, I found on my 
arm 
A horrible crawling caterpillar." 

And with mischievous smile she could 
scarcely smother. 
Yet a glance in its daring half awed 
and shy, 
She added, "While they were about it, 
Mother, 
I wish they 'd just finished the butter- 
fly." 

455 



456 •Rosemary anD IRue 

They were words, to the thought of the 
soul that turns 
From the coarser form of a partial 
growth, 
Reproaching the infinite patience that 
yearns 
With an unknown glory to crown them 
both. 

Ah, look thou largely, with lenient eyes, 
On what so beside thee may creep and 
cHng, 
For the possible beauty that underlies 
The passing phase of the meanest 
thing. 

What if God's great angels, whose 
waiting love 
Beholdeth our pitiful life belo\/. 
From the holy height of their heaven 
above. 
Could n't bear with the worm till the 
wings should grow? 

Adeline D. T. Whitney. 



THE EBB OF TIDE 

The little maid lay moaning 

Late at the set of sun ; 
They told him she was dying 

Now that the day was done. 
But, listening at the window, 

He heard the full-toned roar 
Of great waves plunging, plunging, 

All down the silent shore. 
And to the watchers weeping, 

"She cannot go," he cried — 
*' The soul-call never cometh 

At flowing of the tide." 

The little maid ceased moaning, 
And darker grew the night ; 

They cried, "She is not dying. 
She '11 see the morning light. " 

But he heard there by the window 
457 



458 IRoscmarg aiiD IRuc 

The plunging waves no more, 
But the waters washing, washing, 

Like a lake upon the shore ; 
And he heeded not the watchers 

As hopefully they cried, 
But said with lips all trembling, 

"It is the flood of tide." 

The little maid was sleeping 

Or ere the night was done. 
They said, "She will awaken 

To new life with the sun. " 
But he listened the deep murmur 

The sighing night- wind bore 
Of the waters sobbing, sobbing. 

As they forsook the shore. 
"Now pray the Lord Almighty 

Upon your knees ! " he cried; 
" Oh, pray Him by His mercy, 

For 'tis the ebb of tide. " 

Ah me! — -the world is evil. 
And sick with care and sin, 

And sure the Lord had mercy. 
Who left her not therein. 



IRoscmaie anO IRue 459 

For with one cry, "O Father!" 

She woke ere it was day, 
And sighed and smiled, and, sighing 

And smiHng, passed away. 
And sure, in Hfe more blessed 

Her sweet soul doth abide, 
Where, on the sea of jasper, 

Is never ebb of tide. 

S. J. Stone. 



ACROSS THE LOT 

Do you remember when we came from 
school 
(You leading me, although not much 
the older,) 
How I would skip across the meadow 
cool. 
Saucily calling backward o'er my 
shoulder, 
"Do as you please, — come on with me 
or not, — • 
But I am going home across the lot. " 



460 IRoaemarB anO IRuc 

Away I danced, and you, though left 
alone, 
Pursued the way, with face serene and 
smiling, 
Singing beside the road with low, 
sweet tone. 
And still one thought your tender 
heart beguiling; 
Wild though I was, you knew that I 
would wait 
To meet and greet you at the garden 
gate. 

There, with a bunch of flowers, would 
I stand. 
Or fresh-plucked apples, with their 
ripeness blushing. 
Or with a glass of water in my hand. 
Just brought from where the hillside 
spring was gushing. 
Saying, as you bent down to quench 
your thirst, 
"Now, are n't you glad that I am home 
the first?" 



IRosemars aiiD IRue 461 

I'm dying, sister, — start not! Well I 
know 
That, day by day, my little strength is 
failing ; 
Strive not to hold me back, for I must 
go,— 
God's mighty love, o'er my weak will 
prevailing. 
Frees you from care, and me from pain 
accurst. 
'T is only that I shall be home the first! 

And as of old, sweet sister, I will stand, 
Until you come, beside the heavenly 
portal, 
Keeping the fadeless wreath within 
my hand. 
With which to crown you for your life 
immortal. 
Others will call me "dead." Believe 
them not — 
I only have gone home "across the 
lot." 

Household Poems. 



LITTLE BOY BLUE 

The little toy dog is covered with dust, 

But sturdy and stanch he stands, 
And the little toy soldier is red with rust 

And his musket moulds in his hands ; 
Time was when the little toy dog was 
new 

And the soldier was passing fair. 
And that was the time when our Little 
Boy Blue 

Kissed them and put them there. 

"Now don't you go till I come," he 
said, 
"And don't you make any noise" 
So toddling off to his trundle-bed 
He dreamt of the pretty toys. 
And as he was dreaming, an angel song 
Awakened our Little Boy Blue. 
462 



IRosemarg aiiD IRue 463 

Oh, the years are many, the years are 
long, 
But the httle toy friends are true. 

Aye, faithful to Little Boy Blue they 
stand, 
Each in the same old place. 
Awaiting the touch of a little hand, 

And the smile of a little face. 
And they wonder, as waiting the long 
years through 
In the dust of that little chair, 
What has become of our Little Boy Blue 
Since he kissed them and put them 
there. 

Eugene Field. 



THE OTHER ONE 

Sweet little maid, with winsome eyes, 

That laugh all day through the tangled 
hair, 
Gazing with baby looks so wise 

Over the arm of the oaken chair, 
Dearer than you is none to me, 

Dearer to me there can be none, 
Since in your laughing face I see 

Eyes that tell of another one. 

Here where the firelight softly glows, 
Sheltered and safe, and snug, and 
warm, 
What to you is the wind that blows 

Driving the sleet of the winter storm? 
Round your head the ruddy light 
GHnts on the gold from your tresses 
spun; 

464 



TRoscmarg anD IRue 465 

But deep is the drifting snow to-night 
Over the head of the other one. 

Hold me close, as you sagely stand 

Watching the dying embers shine. 
Then shall I feel another hand, 

That nestled once in this hand of mine. 
Poor little hand, so cold and still, 

Shut from the light of stars and 
sun. 
Clasping the withered roses still. 

That hide the face of the sleeping 
one. 

Laugh, little maid,while laugh you may ; 

Sorrow comes to us all, I know; 
Better perhaps for her to stay 

Under the drifting robe of snow. 
Sing while you may your baby 
songs. 

Sing till your baby days are done, — • 
But, Oh, the ache of the heart that 
longs 

Night and day for "the other one!" 

Pittsburgh Bulletin. 
30 



THE LITTLE SISTER 

To-day beside the open cupboard door, 
With aching heart and tear-dimmed 
eyes I stood, 
And looked the rows of shoes and 
dresses o'er, 
And saw the Uttle rounded hood. 

Oh, I am glad I did not scold or fret 
When first the dress was soiled, or 
apron torn, 
And on the dewy grass the hat was set, 
And when the books were marked 
and torn. 

If I had chided when the eager feet 
Across the muddy pool their way did 
take. 
That she the little friend might sooner 
meet. 
It seems to me that now my heart 
would break. 

466 



•RoBcmarg anD IRue 467 

Oh, years I 'd give to see the Httle maid 
Beside my chair, with head turned, 
so that I 
Might once again, upon the loosened 
braid, 
The rumpled band of ribbon tie. 

If she were sitting by my side with book 
Or slate to-night, she would not have 
to ask 
A second time, with coaxing, pleading 
look. 
That I should help her with her task. 

Upward I turn my weary blinded eyes, 
And strive to search through all the 
spaces wide. 
"Where doth" — I cry unto the silent 
skies — 
" The little sister now abide? " 

O Father, wheresoever she may be. 
Whether amid the starry spheres above 

Or in some world no human eye can see, 
Guard and surround her with Thy love. 



468 TRo6cmac]2 aiiD IRue 

We ask not that the streets be shining 
gold 
Through which her young and tender 
feet shall stray, 
But that within a safe and quiet fold 
Our little one — our lamb — may stay. 

Godey's Lady's Book. 



NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP 

The day is over and the tender gloaming 

Is softly drawing down its misty veil; 

The crimson fires of sunset long have 

vanished, 

And in the west the glowing embers 

pale. 

Behind the hills the last bright gleams 
are dying, 
And one by one their glories fade away ; 
The hush of evening rests on weary 
nature, 
And nun-like shadows shroud the dying 
day. 

I hear the children in the quiet nursery ; 
Their voices echo through the dewy air 
As, in their white robes reverently 
kneeling, 
With clasped hands they say their 
evening prayer. 
469 



470 IRosemacs anO IRue 

That sweet old prayer, by countless 
tongues repeated, 
Lovingly taught us at our mother's 
knee, 
And hallowed by the trusting faith of 
childhood. 
Comes echoing through the twilight 
dim, to me. 

"If I should die," — 'the childish voices 
falter. 
Thinking of one already gone to rest. 
Whose voice with theirs in evening 
prayer had mingled, 
Now singing Jesus' praises with the 
blest. 

I listen to them as they softly utter 
Each sweet petition of that dear old 
prayer. 
And wish myself back to the days of 
childhood, 
Unsoiled by sin, and undisturbed by 
care. 



IRosemaris anD IRuc 471 

If I could choose of all the poems 
written, 
Or noblest songs by poets ever sung, 
I would that mine had been this sweet 
petition, 
Nightly repeated by pure childhood's 
tongue. 

Surely among the prayers to heaven 
ascending. 
And written by recording angels there, 
The loving Saviour hears this sweet 
petition, 
And listens to the little children's 
prayer. 

Minnie H. Kenney. 



THE TAPESTRY WEAVERS 

Let us take to our hearts a lesson, — no 

lesson can braver be, — 
From the ways of the tapestry weavers, 

on the other side of the sea. 
Above their heads a pattern hangs, they 

study it with care: 
The while their fingers deftly work, 

their eyes are fastened there. 
They tell this curious thing besides, 

about the patient weaver — 
He works on the wrong side evermore, 

but works for the right side ever. 
It is only when the weaving stops, and 

the web is loosed and turned. 
That he sees his real handiwork, — that 

his marvellous skill is learned. 
Ah, the sight of its delicate beauty, how 

it pays him for all its cost! 
472 



IRoscmarg anD IRue 473 

No rarer, daintier work than his was 

ever done by the frost. 
Then the master giveth him golden hire 

and giveth him praise as well, 
And how happy the heart of the weaver 

is, no tongue but his own can tell. 



The years of man are the looms of God, 

let down from the place of the sun. 
Wherein we are weaving away, till the 

mystic web is done. 
Weaving blindly, but weaving surely, 

each to himself his fate, 
We may not see how the right side looks ; 

we can only weave and wait: 
But looking above for the pattern, no 

weaver need have fear, — 
Only let him look clear into Heaven, the 

Perfect Pattern is there. 
If he keeps the face of our Saviour 

forever and always in sight, 
His toil shall be sweeter than honey, 

his weaving is sure to be right. 



474 IRoscmar^ anD IRue 

And when his task is ended, and the 

web is turned and shown, 
He shall hear the voice of the Master; 

it shall say to him, "Well done." 
And the white-winged angels of heaven 

to bear him hence shall come. 
And God for his wage shall give him 

not coin, but a golden crown. 

Anson B. Chester. 



THE LENT JEWELS 

In schools of wisdom all the day was 

spent ; 
His steps at eve the Rabbi homeward 

bent. 
With homeward thoughts, which dwelt 

upon his wife 
And two fair children, who consoled 

his life. 
She, meeting at the threshold, led him in, 
And with these words preventing, did 

begin: 



"Rosemari? anD IRue 475 

** Ever rejoicing at your wished return, 
Yet am I most so now, for since the morn 
I have been much perplexed, and sorely 

tried, 
Upon one point, which you shall now 

decide. 
Some years ago, a Friend into my care 
Some jewels gave: — rich, precious gems 

they were ; 
But, having given them in my charge, 

this Friend 

Did afterward nor come for them, nor 
send, 

But left them in my keeping for so long, 

That now it almost seems to me a 
wrong 

That He should suddenly arrive to-day 

To take those jewels, which He left, 
away. 

What think you? Shall I freely yield 
them back, 

And with no murmuring, — so hence- 
forth to lack 



476 IRoeemari? aiiD IRuc 

Those gems myself, which I had learned 

to see 
Almost as mine forever, — mine in fee?" 

"What question can be there? Your 

own true heart 
Must needs advise you of the only part: 
That may be claimed again which was 

but lent. 
And should be yielded with no dis- 
content. 
Nor, surely, can we find herein a wrong. 
That it was left us to enjoy so long." 
"Good is the word," she answered. 

"May we now, 
And evermore, that it is good, allow." 
Then, rising, to an inner chamber led. 
And there she showed him, stretched 

upon one bed. 
Two children pale; — and he the jewels 

knew. 
Which God had lent him and resumed 

anew. 

Archbishop Trench. 



SOMEBODY'S DARLING 

Into a ward of the whitewashed halls, 

Where the dead and the dying lay, 
Wounded by bayonets, shells and balls, 
Somebody's darling was borne one 
day. 
Somebody's darling, so young and so 
brave, 
Wearing yet, on his sweet pale face. 
Soon to be hid in the dust of the grave. 
The lingering light of his boyhood's 
grace. 

Matted and damp are the curls of gold 
Kissing the snow of that fair young 
brow, 
Pale are the lips of delicate mould, — 
Somebody's darling is dying now. 
477 



478 1Ro6cmax^ anD IRue 

Back from his beautiful blue- veined 
brow 

Brush his wandering waves of gold ; 
Cross his hands on his bosom now, 

Somebody's darling is still and cold. 

Kiss him once, for somebody's sake, 

Murmur an orison, soft and low; 
One bright curl from its fair mates take, 

They were somebody's pride, you 
know. 
Somebody's hand hath rested there : 

Was it a mother's, soft and white, 
Or have the lips af a sister fair 

Been baptized in their waves of light? 

God knows best. He was somebody's 
love. 
Somebody's heart enshrined him there ; 
Somebody wafted his name above. 

Night and morn on the wings of prayer. 
Somebody wept when he marched away, 
Looking so handsome, brave, and 
grand ; 



1Ro6emars anD TRue 479 

Somebody's kiss on his forehead lay, 
Somebody clung to his parting hand. 

Somebody's watching and waiting for 
him, 
Yearning to hold him again to her 
heart. 
And there he lies, with his blue eyes dim, 

And the smiling childlike lips apart. 
Tenderly bury the fair young dead, 

Pausing to drop on his grave a tear ; 
Carve on the wooden slab over his head, 
"Somebody's darling slumbers here." 
Marie Lacoste. 



DYING IN HOSPITAL 

I LAY me down to sleep, 

With little care 
Whether my waking find 

Me here or there. 

A bowing burdened head 
That only asks to rest, 

Unquestioning, upon 
A loving breast. 

My good right hand forgets 

Its cunning now ; 
To march the weary march 

I know not how. 

I am not eager, bold, 

Nor strong, — all that is past; 
1 'm ready not to do. 

At last, — at last. 
480 



IRosemarg auD IRue 481 

My half-day's work is done, 
And this is all my part, — 

I give a patient God 
My patient heart. 

And grasp his banner still 
Though all its blue be dim : 

These stripes, no less than stars, 
Lead after him. 

Anonymous. 



AT REST 

Dear hands, dear patient hands, 
That all life's tasks performed so well; 
What hours of toil each joint could tell; 
Yes, yes, God knows they did their best 
Even to the last; then peaceful rest, 
Dear patient hands. 

Poor feet, — poor weary feet, 
Whose pilgrimage on earth is o'er; 
How glad to reach that other shore ! 
31 



482 IRosemarij anD TRue 

For dark and rugged here the way, 
From Hfe's sad morn till close of day, 
Poor weary feet. 

Dear heart, dear silent heart, 
O'erburdened with thy weight of woe, 
The which the world could never know; 
Forever hushed each stifled sigh, 
Each untold wish, each bitter cry, 
Dear silent heart. 

'Tis well. Oh, yes, 'tis well. 
Each feature tells of sweet repose. 
And so the loving eyes I close. 
A smile bespeaks a work well done, 
A prize now gained, a victory won. 
And then at rest. 

M. A. Butt. 



MY MOTHER'S WRINKLES 

The angels folded them down I know, 
Tenderly down when none could see, 

With a sweet thought's weight to keep 
them so — 
Maybe a thought of me. 

A thought of me, and a throbbing 
thought 

Crossing the daisies' snowy sea, 
To the silent temples, flower-fraught, 

Under the cypress tree. 

For often the solemn feet have trod, 
Noiseless and chill, beside her hearth. 

Bearing a message down from God, — 
Bearing a soul from earth. 

In the long still nights when others slept, 
Weeping has kept her lids apart, 

Till the tender lingering pain had crept 
Out of her weary heart 
483 



4S4 IRosemars aiiD IRue 

Into her forehead's white, and there 
The loving fingers that always wait 

On grief unfolded it, soft and fair, 
Into these wrinkles straight. 

The saints who stand in a holy place, 
Meekly joyous, have felt, I know. 

Over the page of an earth-born face, 
The sorrowful record grow. 

And looking back to the dim earth-days, 
Haply the righteoas ones can see, 

In the grief -wrought lines, the halloAved 
rays 
Of an aureole to be. 

O saintly mother, I sit apart. 

And reverently each feature trace, 

Reading the story of my heart 
In the wrinkles on thy face. 

The angels folded them softly down 

With fingers of love when none might 

see, 
Fold by fold, with another crown 

In the world of bliss for thee. 



WHAT SHALL I GIVE HER 

What shall I give my love? 

This gray-haired woman, 

What shall I give her? 
Since by fate brought together, 
We two have wrought together, 

Helping each other 

In deed, in thought. 
Each has made the other stronger, 
Made this Hfe worth Hving longer, 

Which else were naught, — 

What shall I give her? 

What shall I give my love? 

This gray-haired woman. 

What shall I give her? 
The morn should sing it to me, 
The flight should bring it to me, 

The thought I seek. 

So close are we 
Subtle instinct of affection 
485 



486 •Rosemary anO IRuc 

Should make easy the selection. 
What shall it be? 
What shall I give her? 

Our beings have a single sum, 

Our thoughts in the same channel 
flow, — 

This happiness to us has come, — 
No more we seek or care to know. 

Wound through the fibre of each heart, 
Like wire of gold through potter's clay, 

This knowledge is the richest part, 

Love's handiwork, — love's cloisonnd. 

What shall I give my love, 

This gray-haired woman? 

It matters not. 
I laugh to ponder o'er it; 
She would but wonder o'er t. 

Why, she has got 

All I can give. 
In one our lives are blended, 
As one will they be ended; 

So do we live. 

What could I give her? 



TO MY MOTHER 

Deal gently with her, Time. These 

many years 
Of life have brought more smiles with 

them than tears. 
Lay not thy hand too hardly on her now, 
But trace decline so slowly on her brow, 
That, like a sunset of the northern clime, 
Where twilight lingers in the summer 

time, 
And fades at last into the silent night, 
Ere one may note the passing of the 

light,— 
So may she pass, since 'tis the common 

lot. 
As one who, resting, sleeps, and knows 

it not. 

John Allen Wyeth. 
487 



HE WHO DIED AT AZIM 

He who died at Azim sends 
This to comfort all his friends. 

Faithful friends: It lies, I know, 
Pale and white and cold as snow ; 
And ye say, "Abdullah's dead," 
Weeping at the feet and head. 
1 can see your falling tears, 
1 can hear your sighs and prayers; 
Yet I smile, and whisper this: 
' ' I am not the thing you kiss ; 
Cease your tears, and let it lie; 
It was mine. It is not I. " 
Sweet friends, what the women lave 
For the last sleep, of the grave. 
Is a hut, that I am quitting; 
Is a garment, no more fitting ; 
Is a cage, from which at last, 
48S 



IRosemacs anO IRuc 489 

Like a bird, my soul hath passed. 

Love the inmate, not the room; 

The wearer, not the garb ; the plume 

Of the eagle, not the bars 

That kept him from those splendid stars. 

Loving friends, be wise, and dry 

Straightway every weeping eye. 

What ye lift upon the bier 

Is not worth a single tear. 

'T is an empty sea-shell, one 

Out of which the pearl is gone; 

The shell is broken, — it lies there: 

The pearl, the all, the soul, Ues here. 

'Tis an earthen jar whose lid 

Allah sealed, the while it hid 

That treasure of His treasury, 

A mind that loved Him ; let it lie ; 

Let the shards be earth once more, 

Since the gold is in His store. 

Allah glorious, Allah good. 

Now Thy world is understood; 

Now the long, long wonder ends; 

Yet ye weep, my fooHsh friends, 

While the man whom ye call dead, 



490 IRosemaris an& TRuc 

In unspoken bliss instead, 

Lives, and loves you; lost, 'tis true, 

For the light that shines for you: 

But in the light ye cannot see 

Of undisturbed felicity, — 

In a perfect Paradise, 

And a life that never dies. 

Farewell friends, — but not farewell ; 

Where I am, ye too shall dwell. 

I am gone before your face, 

A moment's march, — a little space. 

When ye come where I have stepped, 

Ye will wonder why ye wept. 

Ye will know, by true love taught, 

That here is all — and there is naught. 

Weep a while, if ye are fain, — 

Sunshine still must follow rain ; 

Only not at death, for death 

Now we know is that first breath 

Which our souls draw when we enter 

Life which is of all life centre. 

Be ye certain all seems love. 

Viewed from Allah's throne above. 

Be ye stout of heart and come 



IRoscmarB anD IRue 491 

Bravely onward to your home. 

La-il- Allah, Allah-la: 

O Love divine, O Love alway. 

He who died at Azim gave 

This to those who made his grave. 

Persian Poet. 



THE CHAMBER OVER THE GATE 

Is it so far from thee 
Thou canst no longer see 
In the chamber over the gate 
That old man, desolate, 
Weeping and wailing sore 
For his son, who is no more, 

"O Absalom, my son!" 

Is it so long ago 

That cry of human woe 

From the walled city came, 

Calling on his dear name, 

That it has died away 

In the distance of to-day? 

" O Absalom, my son ! " 

There is no far nor near, 
There is neither there nor here, 
492 



IRosemari^ anD IRuc 493 

There is neither soon nor late, 
In that chamber over the gate, 
Nor any long ago 
To that cry of human woe, 

" O Absalom, my son! " 

From the ages that are past 
The voice comes like a blast, 
Over seas that wreck and drown, 
Over tumult of traffic and town ; 
And from ages yet to be 
Come the echoes back to me, 

" O Absalom, my son! " 

Somewhere, at every hour. 
The watchman on the tower 
Looks forth, and sees the fleet 
Approach of the hurrying feet 
Of messengers that bear 
The tidings of despair. 

"O Absalom, my son!" 

He goes forth from the door 
Who shall return no more; 



494 IRoscmar^ aiiD IRuc 

With him our joy departs ; 
The Hght goes out in our hearts. 
In the chamber over the gate 
We sit, disconsolate: 

" O Absalom, my son! " 

That 't is a common grief 
Bringeth but slight relief; 
Ours is the bitterest loss, 
Ours is the heaviest cross; 
And forever the cry will be, 
"Would God I had died for thee, 
O Absalom, my son!" 

Henry W. Longfellow. 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 

*' O MOTHER what do they mean by blue, 

And what do they mean by gray? " 
Was heard from the Hps of a little child 

As she bounded in from play. 
The mother's eyes filled up with tears; 

She turned to her darling fair, 
And smoothed away from the sunny 
brow 

Its treasures of golden hair. 

" Why, mother's eyes are blue, my sweet, 

And grandpa's hair is gray, 
And the love we bear our darling child 

Grows stronger every day." 
" But what did they mean" persisted 
the child, 
** For I saw two cripples to-day, 
495 



496 IRoscmar^ an& IRue 

And one of them said he fought for the 
blue, 
And the other, he fought for the gray. 

'* Now he of the blue had lost a leg, 

The other had only one arm, 
And both seemed worn and weary and 
sad, 

Yet their greeting was kind and warm. 
They told of battles in days gone by. 

Till it made my young blood thrill: 
The leg was lost in the Wilderness fight, 

And the arm on Malvern Hill. 

" They sat on a stone by the farm-yard 
gate 

And talked for an hour or more, 
Till their eyes grew bright, and their 
hearts seemed warm. 

With fighting their battles o'er; 
And parting at last with a friendly grasp, 

In a kindly, brotherly way, 
Each called on God to speed the time 

Uniting the blue and the gray." 



IRoeemari? an& TRue 497 

Then the mother thought of other days : 

Two stalwart boys from her riven, 
How they knelt at her side and Hsping 
prayed 
"Our Father which art in Heaven;" 
How one wore the "gray," and one 
wore the "blue," 
How they passed away from sight, 
And had gone to a land where "gray" 
and "blue" 
Are merged in colors of light. 

And she answered her darling with 
golden hair, 
While her heart was sadly wrung, 
With the thoughts awakened in that 
sad hour. 
By that busy prattling tongue; 
"The blue and the gray are the colors 
of God; 
They are seen in the sky at even. 
And many a noble, gallant soul 
Has found them passports to Heaven. " 

Anonymous. 
32 



IF 

Lines placed upon Huxley's tomb at his 
request. Written by his wife. 

And if there be no meeting for the grave, 
If all is darkness, silence, yet 'tis rest. 
Be not afraid, ye waiting hearts that 

weep, 
For God still giveth His beloved sleep: 
And if an endless sleep He wills, — so best. 

KISMET 
We call our sorrows Destiny. 
Destiny, is but the breath of God. 

T. R. L 



.98 



I LIVE FOR THOSE WHO LOVE ME. 

I LIVE for those who love me, 

For those who love me true ; 
For the Heaven that smiles above me 

And waits my coming too. 
For the cause that lacks assistance, 
For the wrongs that need resistance, 
For the future in the distance, 

And the good that I can do. 



499 



INDEX 



A Photograph 

Rose Terry Cooke. 

Alice 

C. M. Noel. 
In Memoriam 
Unafraid 

The Critic. 
In Paradise . 
A Remembrance . 

Eliza Scudder. 

A Choice 

Here and There . 

Prayer in Sleep . 

Heaven 

A. W. Priest. 

Sometime 

May Riley Smith. 

Somewhere . 
Commissioned 

Susan Cooledge. 

Parting 

Christus Consolator 
501 



S 

7 

8 

II 

12 
13 

16 
18 
20 
22 

24 

28 
30 

33 
36 



502 



•ffnOcj 



Holy Tears .... 

Some Other Day . 
L. C. Moulton. 
Not Changed, but Glorified 

Faithful Love 

Troy Times. 
The Voice of the Departed. 

The Changed Cross. 
Speak of Me . 
A Heavenly Birthday 

Memory . 

Christina Rossetti. 
Resignation . 

Henry W. Longfellow. 

Longings 

Phoebe Cary. 

Thou and I 

Phoebe Cary. 

Their Thoughts and Our Thoughts 
J. W. Chad wick. 

I Give Thee Joy . 
When I Remember 
The Loved and Lost 
Thy Son Liveth 

Rev. W. H. Draper. 

A Child's Death . 

F. W. Faber. 
Lent, not Lost 

A Farewell 
R.J. 



PAGE 

39 

40 
44 

46 

49 
52 
54 

55 

59 

63 

65 

68 

70 

73 
78 

80 

85 
88 



Evelyn Hope 

Robert Browning. 

Wilt Thou Forget ? 

One Year Ago 

Rt. Rev. A. C. Coxe, D.D 

Remember 

Stevenson. 

In this Dim World 
Gerald Massey. 

Threnodia 

James Russell Lowell. 

A Mother's Prayer 
Meta Orred. 

The Lost Child 

Fanny Kemble Johnson. 

Beati Mundo Corde 

Gone .... 
John G. Whittier. 

Beyond the Shadow 

B. M. 
Would I? 

Walter Clyde. 
Sunshine and Shadow . 

Manhattan Magazine. 
Would Ye Bring Them Back 

E. B. Russell. 
Gone Before 

C. M. Noel. 
Gone Home . 

The Changed Cross. 



503 

PAGE 
89 

92 

94 
96 
98 

lOI 

102 

104 

106 
107 

III 

117 

120 

121 

123 

126 



504 



fn^ej 



Some Day, Somehow 

Minneapolis Journal. 

C. A. M. 

Crowned 

Caroline M. Noel. 

At Twilight. 

Guy Wetmore Carryl. 

The Broken Flower 

Rest in the Grave 

The Child Eternal 

Irene Fowler Brown. 

An Anniversary . 
Charlotte Elliot. 

Epitaph 

Dead .... 
B. E. W. 

Memories 
Remember 

Christina Rossetti. 
A Death-Bed 

M. E. Winslow. 

Watching 

Thomas Hood. 
A Song and a Prayer 

Frederick Langbridge. 
Gone Away . 
Alone .... 
Under the Violets 

Oliver Wendell Holmes. 

Prospice 

Robert Browning. 



PAGE 

128 

130 
131 

133 

136 

139 
142 

144 

146 
147 

148 
150 

151 

153 

154 

156 

159 
161 

164 



flnOej 



505 



From " The Lady of Garaye 
Mrs. Norton. 

Links with Heaven 

Holy Innocents . 
Christina Rossetti. 

Mother-Questions 
Angelic Answers . 
Mother-Love 

Mrs. E. B. Browning. 

The Shepherd Calls 
L. C. Moulton. 

Mater Dolorosa . 
Mary K. Field. 

A Little Grave 

Best 

H. H. 

Babes Always 

Marion Harland. 

The Week She Died 
Good Housekeeping. 

Tired Mothers 

Mrs. Albert H. Smith 

Safe 

Emma Toke. 

Those Little Feet 
Caroline M. Noel. 

Dear Little Hands 

The Pitcher of Tears 
Emily Pfeiffer. 

Only 



P.\GE 
166 

167 
169 

171 

179 

182 

184 
186 

I 89 

192 

198 
200 

201 
203 

205 



5o6 tntfCX 

Measuring the Baby . 

Grandfather's Pet 

A Mother's Prayer 

A Mother's Offering . 

Sunshine ..... 

The Changeling .... 
James Russell Lowell. 

In Heaven ..... 
The Changed Cross. 

After the Burial 

James Russell Lowell. 
All Things Can Be Borne 

E. A. Allen. 

Tru'st . ♦ 

God's Quiet ..... 
Pax Dei ..... 

Rev. B. Edwardes. 
Do Any Hearts Ache There ? 

Louise C. Moulton. 
Their Joy ..... 

Forever ..... 

John Boyle O'Reilly. 
Shall We Know Each Other There ? 
Recognition ..... 
A Thought of the Resurrection 
Blessed Easter .... 

Laura F. Hinsdale. 

Easter Hymn .... 

Our Easter Thanks 

Margaret E. Sangster. 



PAGE 

207 
210 
213 

215 
219 

221 

224 
227 

230 

233 
233 
234 

23s 

237 
239 

241 

243 
245 
247 

248 
250 



Undcj 



507 



PAGE 

Giving Thanks . . . . .252 
Thanksgiving . . . . .254 

C. B. L. 

Hereafter 256 

Our Father Who Art in Heaven . 258 

New York Observer. 

As Years Go By . . . . .260 
W. Morris. 

Good-Night, the Dreams of Earth . 261 
Caroline M. Noel. 

A Little While . . . . . 264 

Going Home ...... 267 

Margaret E. Sangster. 

The Blessed Dead .... 269 

F. W. Faber. 

All Souls' Day . . . . .272 

The Narrow Home .... 274 

Friends Departed . . , .277 

H. Vaughan. 
Yet a Little While . . . -279 

Jane Crewdson. 

Good-Night 281 

The Christian's Good-Night . . 283 

Holy Christmas Night . . . 286 

Christmas Guests .... 2S8 

The Bells across the Snow . . 291 

Frances R. Havergal. 
A Stillness ...... 293 

Lucy Fletcher- 



5o8 



•ffiiDer 



Love Unexpressed 

Constance Woolson. 

The Heavenly Guide 

Not Knowing 

Thou Knowest 

Jane Borthwick. 

Father, Take My Hand 
Henry N. Cobb. 

Lift Me Up . 

Lead Them Home . 

Mizpah .... 
Constance F. Woolson. 

He Knoweth All . 

I 'll Struggle On . 

Death's Change 
Edwin Arnold. 

The Cross 

Dying .... 
C. M. Noel. 

Teach Me to Live 

Life .... 

Mrs. Barbauld. 

Life and Death 

Christina Rossetti. 

How .... 

Mrs. Charles. 

Shadowland 

Rev. Basil Edwards. 
Wholly Resigned 

Richard Baxter. 



PAGE 

297 

300 

301 
330 

306 

309 

311 
313 

314 
316 

319 

319 

320 

321 
324 

325 

327 

330 

333 



ITnDcj 



509 



My Times Are in Thy Hand 

Anna L. Waring. 
And Then 
Nearer Home 

Phoebe Gary. 
Crossing the Bar . 

Alfred Tennyson. 
An Unknown Grave 

Rev. Basil Edwards. 
Love's Eternity . 

Daisy Gordon Low. 
Amen .... 
Thy Way, not Mine, O Lord 

Horatius Bonar. 

The Eternal Goodness 
John G. Whittier. 

Dreamland . 

Christina Rossetti. 
Our Rest 
Mysteries 

Caroline S. Le Bow. 

Waiting 

C. M. Noel. 
Sound Sleep . 

Christina Rossetti. 
When Beauty Dies 

Sophie Jewett. 

The Two Mysteries 
Homeward 

Horatius Bonar 



PAGE 

334 

337 
338 

340 

341 
344 

345 
347 

349 

351 

353 
356 

358 
360 
361 

365 



510 



irn&ei 





PAGE 


Through Peace to Light 


. 368 


Adelaide A. Procter. 




Waiting .... 


• 370 


M. E. Winslow. 




Grant Us Thy Peace . 


• 373 


The Tryst .... 
Cornhill Magazine. 


• 375 


Rest ..... 
Father Ryan. 


. . 378 


The Other Shore . 


. 380 


Satisfied .... 
Lyra Anglicana. 


. 382 


Life's Answer 


. 385 


Henry Alford. 




Recompense .... 


. 387 


George Klingle. 




'T WILL NOT be Long 


• 390 


I Am So Tired 

M. E. Townsend. 


• 394 


Does the Road Lead Up Hill 

Christina Rossetti. 


? . . 396 


A Little Way 


• 399 


The Land Beyond the Sea . 


. 402 


F. W. Faber. 




Over the Sea 


. 405 


Beyond ..... 


. 406 


O Jesus Merciful. 
C. M. Noel. 


. 409 


When ..... 
Susan Cooledge. 


. 411 



■fftiDej 



511 



PAGE 

Sleep 415 

Golden Hours. 
Requiescat ...... 418 

Matthew Arnold. 
Rest ....... 419 

Christina Rossetti. 
Song ....... 420 

Christina Rossetti. 
Echo 421 

Christina Rossetti. 
Sexagesima ...... 422 

Henrietta B. Elliot. 
Love's Measure ..... 423 

Mrs. E. B. Browning 
The Angel of Patience . . . 424 
School-Life ...... 426 

His Jewels ...... 42S 

W. M. L. Day. 
The Soul's Parting .... 431 

Dora Greenwell. 

God's Anvil 434 

Julius Sturm. Tr. by Charles T. 
Brooks. 

A Shadow 43^ 

Sorrow ....... 43^ 

Celia Thaxter. 

Heart Ventures ..... 441 
The Boston Cultivator. 

Patient . . ' . . . • • 443 

All the Year Round. 



512 



UnOei 



Homesick .... 

A. D. F. Randolph. 

Every Year .... 
Gen. Albert Pike. 

Reckoning .... 

Mary Cram. 

One of Three 

Harper's Magazine. 

Larv^ ..... 
Adeline D. T. Whitney. 

The Ebb of Tide . 

S. J. Stone. 
Across the Lot 

Household Poems. 
Little Boy Blue . 

Eugene Field. 

The Other One 

Pittsburgh Bulletin. 

The Little Sister 

Godey's Lady's Book. 

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep 
Minnie H. Kenney. 

The Tapestry Weavers 
Anson B. Chester. 

The Lent Jewels . 

Archbishop Trench. 

Somebody's Darling 

Marie Lacoste. 
Dying in Hospital 
At Rest .... 

M. A. Butt. 



PAGE 

445 
443 
451 
453 
455 
457 

459 
462 
464 
466 
469 
472 
474 

477 

480 
481 



Hn&cj 



513 





PAGE 


My Mother's Wrinkles 


. 483 


What Shall I Give Her ? 


. 485 


To My Mother .... 
John Allen Wyeth. 

He Who Died at Azim . 

Persian Poet. 


. 487 
. 488 


The Chamber Over the Gati, 
H. W. Longfellow. 

The Blue and the Gray 


- 492 

. 495 


If 

Mrs. Huxley. 

Kismet. 

L. R. L. 


. 498 

. 498 


I Live for Those Who Love Me. 


. 499 



NOV 15 1906 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



015 897 411 3 



